


Hold You Down

by danceintheashes



Series: The Wolf and His kitten [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Hermione Granger, BDSM, Background Ginny Weasley/Nymphadora Tonks - Freeform, Caring D/s, Cigars, Crying During Sex, Dom/sub, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger Has a Praise Kink, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Humiliation, Light breath play, Master/Slave, Not Britpicked, Orgasm Control, Past (Implied) Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Past Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Remus Lupin, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Remus Lupin, Rope Bondage, Service Submission, Songfic, Spy Hermione Granger, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceintheashes/pseuds/danceintheashes
Summary: Remus Lupin answers an unusual proposal - one weekend with a mysterious submissive, no strings attached. When his date turns out to be someone he thought he’d never see again, he can’t bring himself to let go.Ten years after her disappearance, Hermione Granger no longer exists. She’s made her peace with that, until she kneels at his feet. She’ll never forgive herself if her traitorous heart destroys them both.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Original Character(s), Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin
Series: The Wolf and His kitten [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081820
Comments: 46
Kudos: 151
Collections: Pip's "Not For the Kiddos" Books [With Sexy Times] I've Read in 2021





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Premise inspired by the book Personal Geography by Tamsen Parker. Cover art by me and Canva. Fancasts are Engin Altan Duzyatan and Marilou Aussiloux. Mostly canon through DH, except that Hermione and Ron break up the summer after the Battle, Remus and Tonks live, and Harry dies in his sacrifice to kill Voldemort.

* * *

_To all the stars that light the road, don’t ever leave that girl so cold_  
 _Never let me down, just lead me home  
_ _Don’t tell me this is all for nothing, I can only tell you one thing_  
 _On the nights you feel outnumbered, baby, I’ll be out there somewhere_  
 _I see everything you can be, I see the beauty that you can’t see_  
 _On the nights you feel outnumbered, baby, I’ll be out there somewhere_

Dermot Kennedy, “Outnumbered”

Saturday, July 31, 1999

The scene at the Burrow felt a little more like a funeral than a party, and they’d all had enough of those. But Molly insisted on hosting an Order get-together on Harry’s birthday, even though Harry was no longer with them.

Then again, Remus could have been projecting his own bleak mood. He glanced over to where Dora was engaged in a lively debate with Ginny. It was probably just the separation getting to him. As amicable and mutual as the decision was, and as committed as Dora was to sharing time with Teddy, he still felt a pang of sadness, like he’d failed as a husband and a father.

Maybe they would sort things out before separation became divorce. He wondered if he wanted them to - if he wasn’t robbing them both of real happiness by trying to make something work that so obviously wouldn’t.

Across the garden, George and Ron gathered the younger crowd with a shout - probably for another game of pick-up Quidditch. One notable face was, as usual, missing from the gang, but appeared next to him as sure as if he’d summoned her.

“Tea for you and chocolate milk for my favorite little man,” Hermione said with a grin. He let her retrieve Teddy as he took the proffered mug with a grateful half-smile. She levitated the other mug to the picnic table, out of Teddy’s line of sight - she took it with milk, two sugars, he remembered from their sleepless early morning talks at Grimmauld Place. He didn’t have to sip his own to know she’d made it black with honey, thoughtful as always.

She settled Teddy on her lap, bouncing him on her knees as she handed him a sippy cup. A shadow passed over her face.

“What is it?” Remus asked.

“I just thought about what my mum would say if she saw me giving chocolate milk to a toddler,” Hermione replied with a slight quirk of her lips. “But I promised myself I wouldn’t be sad today. Hopefully Tonks wouldn’t agree with her that this makes me a terrible godmother.”

“She’s not strict and she somehow manages enough energy to keep up when he’s on a sugar high. I’m sure your sins will be forgiven.” Remus nudged her playfully with his elbow and she perked up a bit. He knew thoughts of her parents were one of the things that weighed most on her, aside from Harry’s death, but it took him a second to recall they’d been dentists. Maybe they were still dentists, in Australia. “I ought to apologize again for what I said - “

“Remus, shut up. It was months ago, and you didn’t say anything I wasn’t already thinking. I forgave you as soon as the words left your mouth.”

He frowned at her but didn’t argue. He’d been a right prick when she let spill that she knowingly performed an irreversible Obliviation the summer after her Fifth Year and sent them off to another country. He castigated her for not coming to the Order for help instead. She shot back that they would have just tried to stop her, but she didn’t run down the litany of Muggleborn students whose families had been attacked in order to make her point, when she easily could have torn his argument to shreds with it. 

Her actions saved her parents’ lives; he still hated himself, Albus, and the rest of them for putting her in a position where she felt she had no other choice, though. Where she had to grieve the loss of both birth and chosen family.

“I know why I’m in a - trash - mood,” Hermione said, swallowing her usual curse words and putting on a reasonable facsimile of cheer as she made faces at his son. Teddy caught hold of her braid, intent on engaging her in a tug of war. “But why are you?”

“Do I need a reason?” Remus asked, cradling the mug in his hands as he sipped the tea. She'd put just the right amount of honey.

“I suppose we’ve all got a standing reason." Hermione winced as she tried to disentangle herself. “Seems like everyone else is managing better, though. And you usually are.” After a few more moments she declared victory and handed his son back to him while she finger-combed her hair and rebraided it. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?” 

Remus shook his head, cuddling Teddy. “Thanks, Min. I’ll come around. Just a rough week.”

“Alright.” She studied him in silence for awhile, long enough that he found it discomfiting. He was about to say something when she surprised him by leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. She drew back so quickly he might have imagined it. “Take care of yourself and this one, yeah?”

“Always. See you tomorrow?” When he didn’t hear an answer, he looked up to see she was gone.

* * *

She didn’t come over on Sunday, her usual day to spend time with Teddy. As the week dragged on and Remus’s sleep became more and more restless, he found himself grateful Dora had taken the boy to her mother’s for a few days.

 _You’re being paranoid_ , he told himself. _She’ll come around on the weekend._

But his Floo calls and owls went unanswered, and by early Wednesday morning, he couldn’t shake his sense of foreboding. When he walked into the Aurory a couple of hours later, he knew he looked like shit, scruffy and exhausted.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked as he looked up from his desk.

Remus sat in the chair across from him, glad the place wasn’t too crowded that morning. “Have you seen Min this week?”

He shook his head. “Not since the party, but it’s not all that unusual - her office is upstairs and she works through lunch, I never run into her around here.”

“Sounds like her. I just - look, I’m probably being paranoid, but she didn’t come by on Sunday to see Teddy, and she usually does. I’ve tried to Floo her, no answer.”

“Maybe she’s been working late. I can beg off for a bit, we can check upstairs and swing by her place if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Yeah. It would.”

Remus tried not to let his thoughts run away with him as the elevator crawled to the fifth floor. “Department of International Magical Cooperation,” the disembodied voice announced.

The witch at the front desk assured them that no one by the name of Hermione Granger had ever worked there.

“Look, it’s probably just a misunderstanding,” Ron said as the elevator descended. He’d narrowly managed to drag Remus away before he could tell off the receptionist. “Maybe she got a new gig or something and wanted to surprise us. I’m sure she’s at her flat.”

Remus had never been to her flat; she usually came to his cottage, or they ran into one another at the Burrow. Ron side-alonged him to a dodgy Muggle neighborhood on the other side of London and they took the stairs two at a time to the third floor. Oddly, there weren’t any wards. Ron banged on the door for a bit before he tried the knob, which turned to admit them with no resistance.

They’d barely stepped into the flat before Remus felt sick. Ron checked the other rooms, but the whole place was empty. The younger man’s face mirrored his own fear.

“What the hell, ‘Mione!” He slammed a hand against the wall in frustration.

Remus scrubbed a tired hand over his face as he tried to think through his memories of their last conversation. “Saturday. Did you see her on Saturday, after you guys finished with Quidditch?”

Ron shook his head. “I figured she went home early. You know how uncomfortable she gets at those things.”

“Fucking hell.”

“What? If you know something, Remus - wait, did she say anything to you on Saturday?” he asked, a frantic note in his voice.

“Yeah,” Remus said, his heart sinking into his stomach. “Yeah, I just realized she was saying goodbye.”


	2. Part One

_I knew from the start you’d be the one to set me free_   
_That day in the park, when the hurt would hide from me_   
_Those eyes used to know me, it’s been way too long_   
_You are the moon and the stars and all they gaze upon_   
_Time won’t ever move slowly, what you waiting on?_   
_Yeah, what you waiting on?_

Dermot Kennedy, “Giants”

Thursday, August 20, 2009

The worst thing about deep cover assignments was that you could never clock out.

If she didn’t blow off some steam soon, Hermione was going to walk off this one and disappear to a remote island, fuck the International Wizarding Intelligence Bureau. It would be a hell of a way to waste her training, not to mention the nearly four years she’d spent ingratiating herself with the unhinged supremacist who fancied himself the next Voldemort. 

She glanced down at the untraceable poison simmering in her cauldron with a glum sigh. Maybe she’d get lucky; the school year was about to begin for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. That Rodrigo Guzmán Escalante’s bizarre schedule operated around the strictures of pureblood family life - including the back-to-school crush - was one of the little ironies funny enough to keep her from losing her mind.

She hadn’t had a long weekend since May, when she usually aimed for every month or so. Otherwise she tended to get wound so tight that even Escalante’s men would notice. Of course, Hermione’s way of letting off steam with them was bloodier and less erotic, which wasn’t as much fun for her. He may have brought her on for her Healing and Potions skills, but the dangers of being one of the few women in a large circle of misogynist pureblood men meant she quickly made a name for herself as a fighter - with magic and without.

 _You’ll be done by Christmas_ , she reminded herself. The summer had been so busy in part because of the whispers that Escalante was planning a big attack, which her superiors intended to use to finally nail his ass to the wall. It was the only thought that kept her going, not just because she didn’t have enough time for her extracurricular pursuits. Some days the assignment asked so much of her that she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand to be Léonie Morneau. 

The thought of retirement was more than a joke these days. She never thought she’d say that, but as strange and terrifying as it felt to consider returning to her old life, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what kind of assignment would come next.

She decanted the poison, the latest in a line of similar potions she’d devised. Maybe she’d call this one Last Kiss. As she was labeling the bottle, a familiar head peeked around the corner with a soft knock on the door frame.

“What are you still doing here?” Hermione asked, glancing up and smiling at Javier. “It’s late. Aren’t you guys going to Paris tomorrow?”

“Hey, Miss Leo! Yeah, it’s just, my dad said to come tell you the boss wants a quiet weekend before we go. He said you’d be happy about it.”

She stoppered the bottle and cleansed her hands with a silent, wandless charm, standing from her stool so she could step out of her lab and pull the kid into a hug. At 15, he’d long since passed her in height, but he showed her plenty of deference. The reason she liked him, though, was because he was also one of the few real innocents around here. His dad - Escalante’s right-hand man, Santiago - not so much.

“I am, Javi. Actually, that’s the best news I’ve gotten all month.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Have fun school shopping, yeah? And be safe. Tell your mamá I said hi.”

“You too. Night!” He gave her a tight squeeze and then turned, halfway down the hallway before she registered that he’d gone.

Pretty soon, he’d be too jaded to hug her like that anymore. She had to finish things before Escalante decided he was old enough to put in the cage or send on an attack. At least he’d be at Beauxbatons until the Christmas hols.

It would have to be enough time.

* * *

Hermione waited until she was on her block before turning her mobile on. The best thing about being a witch as well as a spy was that she didn’t have to worry about her cell being traced, since Escalante’s men despised Muggle technology. She wouldn’t put it past her handler to search it, though, so she cleared it regularly out of habit. 

As she ran up the stairs in her building, she dialed Cesare. By the time she’d given up on finding her keys and used a whispered Alohomora to break into her own flat, his warm Italian accent filtered through the speaker phone.

“If it isn’t my favorite girl! I thought you’d never call.”

“You tell that to all the girls,” she said, shaking her head in amusement as she sent a dusting charm across her living room before she collapsed on the couch. She spent so much time at the compound these days, she wasn’t home enough to bother with cleaning. “Listen. I know I’ve been scarce lately, but I’m off til Sunday. Please tell me you have good news.”

“I only mean it when I say it to you, cara.” Cesare’s over-the-top charm was tempered with a touch of exasperation. “You couldn’t call me before Thursday at midnight, though?”

She ran her hand through her hair with a tired sigh. “I just found out. This has been the longest summer of my life.” Strictly speaking, that had been the summer after Fifth Year, but that was another lifetime. “Sorry, mate. Do a submissive a solid?”

She could practically hear him shaking his head. “Only ‘cause I love you so much. I’ve got a guy I vetted last year when I was hard up for names. He might be up for it on short notice.”

“Why do I hear a ‘but’? Ces, please tell me there’s not a ‘but.’” She sunk back into the couch cushions, sending up a quick prayer. 

“He’s not a Muggle.”

Hermione banged her head against the back of the couch. “Tell me I have other options.”

“Sorry, cara, you’ve run through all of the single Muggle Doms on the continent who fit my exacting standards and are also crazy enough to accept your offer. At least with less than two days’ notice.” To his credit, Cesare sounded genuinely apologetic.

“What about that Fontaine fellow? He wasn’t so bad, and he freelances, I bet he’s not working - “

“If you want to waive your never-fuck-them-twice rule, I’m happy to go down the list in the morning, but it’s a gamble, Kate. If you want a sure date, I need to reach out ASAP, and this one ticks all your favorite boxes. And Ryan speaks highly of him.”

“Ugh,” she growled in frustration. He was right, as usual, and years of experience had taught her she could trust his judgment and his vetting. Plus, it wasn’t every day that the owner of the only wizarding lifestyle club this side of Budapest issued references. “Fine. It’s not like I can’t do enough wandless magic to keep myself safe. Just - make sure nothing’s changed since last year and let me know where to meet him.”

“He lives in Marseille. You want me to swing by?”

“No, no, I’m already putting you to too much trouble as is. I’ll text you to check in. We’ll have lunch next time I’m in your neck of the woods, yeah?”

“Bet on it, cara. Miss you, love you, bye.” Cesare gave her an exaggerated smooch through the speaker.

Hermione ended the call and threw her phone on the couch, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. Cesare had been one of her trainers ten years before when she first transferred to the IWIB, and he quickly clocked her as a submissive. Back then, her romantic experience was limited to Viktor Krum and Ron Weasley. She’d barely recognized her desires herself.

He became a mentor of sorts; they rarely went to bed together, but he introduced her to the right people, taught her what she needed to know, and made sure she stayed out of trouble. She loved him dearly, and he was as good a friend as one could have when none of your friends knew your name.

IWIB agents worked completely off the books. To her coworkers there, and to Cesare, she was Kate Montgomery, as close as she had to a ‘real name’ these days. To Escalante, she was Léonie Morneau, the last of a dying French pureblood line. On her previous assignment, in Belgium, she’d been Emily Blanchard. The assignment before that, Sara Witt. 

Between her many aliases and her layered glamors, it was enough to unmoor a person, but she’d become used to it. Hermione Granger hadn’t existed since she worked in the Department of Mysteries.

Her offer _was_ pretty out there. A weekend with an experienced submissive, no strings attached, no personal entanglements, travel - and any other expenses they asked for - handled. Still, plenty said yes. Cesare liked to stick to a certain echelon of society, though - the kind that didn’t do booty calls - and in a perfect scenario she’d have gotten the guy’s info and settled on a mutually agreeable contract by now.

Though she would never do anything public, Ryan had been trying to drag her to Nox for ages - she knew he had a running list of candidates in mind. Maybe it was time to get around to relaxing her rules. There were plenty of eligible wizards in Europe, right? 

Her phone chimed, pulling her from her thoughts. ‘Text you the deets in the morning. Stop being paranoid and go to bed. The point is relaxation, remember?’ It was followed by a string of x’s.

She laughed and headed for the shower. Cesare had never let her down before.

* * *

You could tell a lot about a man by what restaurant he picked to impress a woman he planned to bed.

Hermione had never done the math on exactly how many dinners like this she’d had, but she figured she was an expert by now. The little Muggle Italian spot this time felt more authentic and less for show, which she appreciated; Cesare had suggested casual attire. Nice enough not to seem cheap, but family-run, the kind of place where the smell of garlic and the sound of laughter spilled out of the doorway.

Cesare texted her the contract, restaurant address, photo, and name first thing in the morning, and she woke up hopeful. His scene name - Wolf - was trite and nondescript but not embarrassing. His contract did, indeed, check all her favorite boxes, with the added bonus that he didn’t seem to be much of a sadist. It was unusual to find someone who liked to tie you up but wasn’t set on inflicting a significant amount of pain once they got you there, and though she could take it, Hermione had had enough of real pain for one lifetime. They wouldn’t have time to negotiate back and forth on paper, so it was pretty bare bones, but her limits were clearly acknowledged. 

His photo was unique - in profile, she could just see the side of his face, the edge of a smile, a neatly-trimmed beard and blonde hair with a touch of gray. It was a candid shot, not the conventional imposing portrait, which made him all the more attractive somehow. He was at the higher end of her age range, but maybe that was better, if he was used to the bachelor life. Sometimes they wanted to get too personal.

Through the window of the restaurant, she saw that he wore a sky blue button-down and dark wash jeans. But she didn’t spot the scars on his cheek until he walked through the door.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Swallowing the the water she’d nearly choked on, she stood as the waitress showed him to her table. She shook his hand - after surreptitiously wiping hers on her dress first - and accepted his kiss on her cheek.

“Kate,” she said, trying to hit the sweet spot with Occlumency where she wouldn’t be so blank as to be suspicious while she screamed internally.

“Please, call me Remus,” he responded in French with a genuine smile. “Just feels a little weird otherwise.”

* * *

Somehow she kept her cool long enough. They ordered and she used a safe call and the noise of the restaurant as excuses to get outside, where she stepped out of view of the window and leaned against the wall of the closed shop next door.

“Siri, call Cesare.” She didn’t put the phone on speaker this time.

“It’s too early for you to be calling,” he answered. “What’s wrong?”

“I know him.”

“He’s part of an assignment?” he asked, puzzled. He didn’t know the details of any of her assignments, just that she still worked for the Bureau.

“No, Ces.” Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is my own fucking fault, we normally only go back a decade because I don’t see - our kind.” 

The vetting was a basic safety precaution; even if they had gone back more than ten years, Cesare didn’t know the ins and outs of the war well enough to recognize the name. And she never asked for the full dossier. It wouldn’t have helped.

“Oh. You ‘know him’ know him. Did he recognize you?”

“No, you know how I am about my glamors, but even if I could make it through an entire dinner date without giving myself away - “ She cut off, her breath catching in her throat.

“You don’t want to.”

“Yeah. But I can’t. I either Obliviate him and walk away or he finds out, and you know the latter isn’t an option in this line of work.”

“I don’t work for those bastards anymore, Katie, it’s not like I’m going to tell management on you,” Cesare said in his soothing baritone. “Calm down, take a breath, stop Occluding so hard you make yourself sick.”

He knew her too well - and also he’d been the one to teach her advanced Occlumency in the first place. She took a few deep breaths. “What do I do?”

“What do you want to do? What does your heart say?”

She choked out a bitter laugh. “I don’t get to have one, that’s the whole point of this exercise, remember?”

“Don’t play the cynical hag with me, cara, I know better,” he chided. “What was your first instinct? Before you thought about the assignment or management or calling me or any of it? No lies.”

She lied for a living. Other than her name and certain parts of her background - he knew she’d been involved in the war, just not her exact role - there were never lies between the two of them. She hated him for the reminder.

“I wanted to - to tell him.” The truth came out in a small voice. 

“And do you trust him? Are you prepared for the consequences of that?”

Was she prepared to walk away without sleeping together? To lie to him about everything going on in her life? To protect him if he tried to pursue her or interfere?

“Tell me I’m not being selfish, Ces,” she said in a broken whisper. “Please.”

“I don’t remember the last time you were selfish. Frankly, you deserve to be,” Cesare insisted. “But before you beat yourself up over it - ask yourself if he’d want to know it’s you. If you trust him and he’d want to know and you’re prepared for what comes of it, you’ve got your answer. And if any of that’s a no, I know you hate Obliviating, but - ”

“But you taught me well,” she said. She felt like she was going to cry, but she couldn’t; she couldn’t recall the last time she had, outside of a few cathartic scenes.

“Good girl. Go, you’ve made him wait too long already. Make good choices.”

“Love you,” she whispered as she took the phone from her ear.

She could have used an entire bottle of Firewhisky first, but she walked back in anyway, shooting Remus an apologetic smile. Their food had arrived.

“Sorry that took so long.” 

“It’s fine. Would you like wine?” He didn’t seem annoyed, just curious.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t drink before I play, even a little.” 

She doubted they’d get to the play once he found out who she was, but actually, she rarely drank at all - both because she’d overindulged that first year after the Battle and because it was a professional liability. Sex and bondage were her preferred intoxicants.

“Me either,” he said with a reassuring smile, winding pasta around his fork. “Everything alright?”

What was the worst that could happen if management found out? Right now they looked the other way because she was good at her job and completely disconnected from her old life. If they made the connection that she knew him - even if it didn’t fuck up the mission - she could still be looking at prison time. Just for talking.

_Stop being a sentimental idiot and walk away. Retire and go visit him in January if you need to so goddamn badly._

She clenched her hands in her lap. His concern was growing by the second, she could feel it. 

_What does your heart say?_

She swallowed hard. “Yes and no,” she said, keeping the trepidation from her voice with the force of years of habit. “There’s a complication.”

“Oh?”

“I need you to promise that regardless of the outcome of this conversation, you’ll uphold certain provisions of the contract. Specifically, the ones about personal questions and keeping what happens between us to yourself.”

“I wouldn’t have signed it if I didn’t intend to keep it.” He shot her a puzzled, slightly offended look. “I’ll take a wand oath if you like, your - handler - mentioned you might ask for one.”

Hermione snorted in amusement at Cesare’s cheek. Her real handler, Cass, didn’t have nearly as much of a sense of humor. “Of course he did. No, that won’t be necessary.” 

Asking him to keep quiet and not pry would be cruel enough. She’d officially be the world’s worst human being for demanding a binding oath on top of it.

“Kate, you’re not eating,” Remus observed. “Whatever it is has you shaken. We don’t need to do this, you know - if someone’s forcing you - “

“No,” she said with another shake of her head. “No, I wanted to be here. I just don’t normally see - our kind.”

“Ah.” He sipped water. He had the grace not to look pissed at the possibility of rejection. “You wanted to be here, meaning you no longer do?”

She said a quick prayer for the fortitude to at least make it through what she was about to tell him. He might ditch her after and save her a lot of trouble. 

“This is the opposite of rejection, Remus.” She traded her perfect French for her native tongue. She wanted to reach for his hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to. “Do not make a scene. In my Third Year, I was the only student who guessed the nature of your affliction.”

His eyes widened and he choked on a bite of a garlic knot, spending the next thirty seconds coughing. He gulped down water, swapping to English as well. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve gotten innovative with the glamors, but you would have caught on soon enough. Ask me whatever you need to.”

The food forgotten, he stared at her. “What’s your Patronus?”

“An otter. Yours is a wolf, obviously, but the first time I saw it you were hiding it,” she said with a small smile. "The last time I saw it was when you notified us about Teddy's birth." She hadn’t cast her Patronus in a long time. It was too distinctive; she favored owls and the Floo when she couldn’t use her mobile.

He sat back in his chair, still staring. He didn’t bother with any other verification questions. Hermione bit her lower lip, a habit she’d grown out of years ago. “I almost walked away, but - but I couldn’t bring myself to. You look really good, Remus.” 

The years since the war had been kind to him - where he used to be thin and ragged from his work liaising with the werewolf clans, he now filled out his 6’2” frame fully, with the suggestion of muscle beneath his shirt. His beard was thicker than she remembered, and he kept his long-ish hair tied back.

“You, too,” he replied faintly. “Or at least this version of you.”

She laughed. “Yeah. The regular version comes with a few more dents and scratches.”

“How did you not know it was me? Mr. Bianchi - “

“Vets for safety, doesn’t go back further than ten years, and shows me only what I ask for. I don’t ask for legal names.” She shrugged. “I guess if I’m going to see our kind, I’ll have to start, because he doesn’t know my real identity or most of the people who fought in the war. Your scar was hidden in your picture, and you look so much different than I remember - happier, less worn out.”

“I’ve noticed that they only got the highlights of what happened down here.” Remus’s lips twisted wryly. “I suppose I should be flattered that you wanted to sleep with me.”

“Please, I had a schoolgirl’s crush on you that only got worse when I wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore.” It started as a witty retort and ended with a blush.

“Now you tell me.” They were both laughing, now, thank God, and when it mellowed out he reached across the table for her hand. “Merlin. I don’t even know what to ask.”

“The contract.” Hermione squeezed his hand gently before she withdrew hers with a guilty sigh.

“Ah.” She could tell by how long it took him to follow her words that he’d momentarily forgotten everything that came before the big reveal. 

“It’s a lot to demand of you, especially considering I have the urge to ask you plenty of things.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said as the waiter brought a check and boxed up her uneaten risotto. She raised an eyebrow. “Go for a walk with me. Tell me whatever you feel comfortable with telling me, and you can ask me anything you want.”

“That’s incredibly generous.”

“I’ve been called that, yes.” He caught her eye with a wink.

Hermione felt a terrifying flutter of warmth behind her ribs, but she couldn’t bring herself to say no. They walked out into the August twilight and down the sidewalk, which was blessedly emptier than it had been before.

“There’s a park around the corner.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“Just a ways down there.” He pointed east. 

“On the beach?” She could hear the waves from where they stood. Though she lived not far from the beach in Barcelona, she couldn't recall the last time she went.

He nodded, and she could feel him studying her out of the corner of his eye. She looked away as she tried to figure out what to say.

“Okay, let’s start with what’s off the table. Why I left, where I’ve been, what I do, and where I live.”

“So, only almost everything I want to know. Got it.”

“What else do you want to know?”

“Are you okay? Are you happy? Have you ever thought about - going back? Or at least reaching out?”

 _Lately, every day._ “I’m okay, happiness is relative, and yes. Maybe one day I will.”

“What’s all - this - about?” he said, gesturing vaguely with the hand that wasn’t holding her food.

She took that to mean her proposal. “I work a lot. It’s - stressful. This is how I relax.”

“It’s a hell of a way to relax.”

“I mean, one day I hope to approach it in a less business-like way, but for now, this works well enough. You don’t find it relaxing?”

“It can be, it’s just that most people’s first instinct after a stressful day is to drink," he replied with a quirk of his lips. "Or take up cross stitch.”

“I’m not most people,” she grinned. “I don’t drink anymore. I still read obsessively, but I’m shit at arts and crafts.”

He snickered. “Got it. What do you want to ask me?”

“When did you move here?” He led her to a spot under a large tree in the park, waiting until she was settled on a bench before sitting next to her, close enough that their knees touched.

“Dora and I got divorced in 2000, I moved down here shortly after. I get some weekends and holidays with Teddy, or I go up there to visit.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry things didn’t work out, Remus.”

“Don’t be.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s been a long time, and it was amicable. We get along. I miss seeing Teddy every day, but honestly, we were never a great fit.”

“How’s he doing?” Hermione still felt guilty for leaving her godson behind.

“He’s 11 going on 25, and hopes to be sorted into Gryffindor in a couple of weeks, but between you and me, Ravenclaw’s not out of the running,” he said conspiratorially.

“Oh, after my own heart, then,” Hermione laughed. “Are you still close to - everyone?”

“Yeah, I visit a lot. You want the rundown, or…?”

“No. Not yet. I’ll find out eventually.” Asking after everyone she knew would dredge up too much history and longing for the moment. 

“You mean it, about coming back into the fold?”

“No promises,” she said softly. “But I hope so. How do you occupy your time?”

“I work in the Defense department at the wizarding university in Marseille. Mainly curse research, a little teaching. And when I’m not doing that, I read obsessively, too.”

She quizzed him on books for awhile and they traded recommendations. Finally, she circled around to the question she needed to hear his answer to, the smile leaving her voice as she met his eyes. 

“Are you terribly angry with me?”

“No.” His green eyes held hers, as fathomless as the sea, and it felt for a moment like he could see beneath her glamor. “Never.”

Hermione gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Why not? I’d be pissed.”

He cupped her cheek. “Because I know you wouldn’t have left without a good reason, even if you’re not ready to tell me what it is.” She closed her eyes tightly as she felt his lips brush her forehead, his beard tickling her nose. “I’m just relieved that you’re alive. That you’re okay.”

“Thank you. I don’t deserve that - but thank you,” she whispered. 

He smiled at her, seeming hesitant. “What is it?” she asked.

“Do you still want to come home with me?”

Hermione turned the question over in her mind. As awkward as it could make things, a small part of her had been hoping he’d ask.

“Do you still want me to?”

“I’m pretty sure as your former professor I’m going to hell for this,” he said with a rueful smile. “But yes.”

“I’m almost 30 and I’m the one who got you into this situation, not the other way around.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Hermione.” The way her name sounded in his mouth made her throat constrict - she hadn’t heard it in so long. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s - there’s not a Taboo on my name. It’s just strange to hear it, but when we’re alone, it’s alright.” She’d already scanned the park for people and traces of magic and decided it was safe and deserted enough, for a public place, anyhow. “I do - want to, that is. Some of the provisions will need amending. Not that I’m much for contracts, it’s just that usually it helps reinforce the temporary nature of the arrangement.”

“I’ve been known to negotiate. Do you want it in writing?” Remus asked, and something in his voice - and his eyes - betrayed that he was as nervous that she’d turn away from him as she was about his anger. Or his rejection.

She shook her head. “A promise is fine. No expectations. I don’t - I don’t normally see the same person twice. I’m not leaving a second meeting off the table with you, but I don’t want you to go into this thinking we’re going to talk or see each other regularly. And you can’t press me about any of the topics that are off limits, or try to dig up dirt on me.”

“Do you always get this ahead of yourself?” he teased, but it was gentle.

She rolled her eyes. “You know the answer to that.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “No expectations. And no digging. Cross my heart.”

“My complicated life aside, this would change things between us, even if it’s just one time. Are you sure that’s what you want?” She searched his eyes.

“Yes.” He said it without any hesitation. “Yes.”


	3. Part Two

_Man, the view is so nice from here_   
_Dancing on the edge with you, but I am not scared with you_   
_Could you remind me why I am here?_   
_I can only feel with you, I am only real with you_   
_So I need you to tell me that you love me some more_   
_Put your hands on my body til my clothes hit the floor_   
_I know you barely know me, but tonight I am yours_   
_Ask me what do I want, I say whatever can cure this mess_   
_Do whatever, I’m yours, do whatever can cure this loneliness, yes_   
_Do whatever, I’m yours, do whatever, I’m sure_

Jhené Aiko, “Drinking and Driving”

Friday, August 21, 2009

They made it back to his place and Remus instructed her to eat. It was nearly 9pm by the time she finished, and she was browsing the bookshelf that took up one entire wall of his living room when she thought to check her phone.

“I need to text Cesare, I’m sure I worried him earlier.”

Remus looked up from his perch on the couch. “Alright. Come to me when you’re ready.”

Hermione nodded. She retrieved her phone from her black silk bag, stepping back into the kitchen for a moment and taking the chance to cast a mouth-cleansing charm as well. 

The house was large and airy, a mix of Muggle and magical construction, with cream and driftwood furnishings and light touches of color here and there. The expansive kitchen opened into an informal dining area, and she’d spotted a long hallway with several doors. Thankfully, the magic used in the building didn’t screw too badly with the cell signal.

‘Curb your desire—don’t set your heart on so many things and you will get what you need.’ It was a game - with her skills, her check-ins were usually superfluous from a safety perspective, but he insisted. They did it in quotes; the Stoics this time. After a moment, she added, ‘Still pretty sure this is a terrible idea, but I’m staying. Don’t worry.’

She waited a few minutes to see if he’d respond, and the answering chime came more quickly than usual. He must have been waiting by the phone. He replied with another Epictetus quote. ‘How long are you going to wait before you demand the best for yourself?’ 

She cracked up laughing. ‘Point taken, you smug bastard. Text you tomorrow.’

Turning her phone off, she stepped back into the living room and set it on the edge of the bookcase. Her eyes found Remus, still sitting on the couch, thumbing through a novel. He’d unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up, and he cut a handsome figure. 

She hesitated in the doorway. Other than Cesare and Ryan, she'd never done this with anyone she knew or would ever see again. She was used to giving up control in a specific container - one where she could remain aloof, disconnected, still in control in the big picture. One where no one ever saw what she really looked like, who she really was.

Remus seemed content with her boundaries, and she knew she could trust him - but if she was going to let him in, could she trust herself to maintain enough distance?

And what if it didn’t go well? Would he be able to look at her after this, if she returned to her old life?

“You’re thinking loudly, sweet girl,” he said without looking up from the book.

A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She came to him and dropped to her knees in front of the couch, sitting back on her heels and clasping her hands behind her back. She was close enough to feel the heat of his body, but she didn’t touch him, though she wanted to. His contract had focused mainly on their limits and his preferences, and explained little in the way of his rules.

He set the book down. Even with her eyes downcast, she could feel him studying her. “Look at me,” he murmured, dragging his calloused fingers across her cheek. She did, and the desire and care - the longing - in his eyes made her shiver. “You’re safe with me. Do you know that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He smiled softly at her. “Would you show me?”

She swallowed hard. She wore an intricately layered, undetectable series of glamors and she didn’t remove all of them in front of anyone - ever. 

Right now, she wore Kate’s face - just altered enough from her own that no one would imagine she could be Hermione Granger even if they were looking for her, not with that stick-straight black hair and unmarred skin. As Léonie Morneau, she looked much the same, but she had blue eyes instead and would show more of her scars and tattoos. All except the ones from the war. 

He held her gaze, resting his hand on her shoulder. She gathered her hair up in one hand and, with the other, touched the nape of her neck and whispered a brief spell. A shard of silver implanted under her skin anchored the layered charms - jewelry was too conspicuous and easy to remove. 

As the magic unwound from her body, she imagined what he saw: her hair a dark chestnut now, falling in loose curls around her face; her eyes changing from charcoal to her natural amber; the silvery constellations of scars covering her pale skin, with a few darker curse marks; the tattoo that extended from her right arm over her upper chest and down her back. Her thin-strapped blue dress hid much of it still. She was petite at five feet, and these days she had a muscular frame with the barest hint of curve. 

Escalante’s brand remained hidden - it marred her chest on the right, just below the unfurling crocuses of her tattoo. She looked forward to covering it with some additional ink one day, but at the moment it would raise too many questions.

“Beautiful.” It was a choked whisper. 

Hermione looked up at him and he cupped her cheek. She wasn’t, not really, the demands of her work had worn a harshness into her features, and she was all angles and lines. She kept waiting for the awkwardness to come, but it didn’t.

“You are beautiful to me.” He said it like he could hear her thoughts. He could still read her like a book.

“Thank you.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“What is it?”

“Would you tell me your rules, please?” She hated being set up to fail in most things, but she’d met a few Dominants who liked to make you learn by trial and error.

“Of course.” He ran his hand through her hair and she closed her eyes as she leaned shamelessly into his touch, feeling the tight coil of tension in her core begin to dissolve. “I don’t have many. You’re not to come or touch yourself without my permission. If you need or want something, ask for it. Sir - or Master, if you’re so inclined - are my preferred forms of address.”

Heavy-lidded, she caught the fond smile that graced his face. Laissez-faire, then. Higher protocol could be fun, too, but she found this more natural. “May I touch you? Please?”

“Yes. You needn’t ask permission for that. And don’t hold back with me. If I want you still or quiet, I’ll make you that way.” The implicit threat made her shiver with want, and with permission to touch him, she moved closer, settling between his legs. “If I require anything else, you’ll know, don’t worry. Do you have a preference for what I call you?”

“No, sir. Not aside from the limits that you know.” 

“One more - a request, really.” At her curious look, he continued, “No Occluding. I’m not a Legilimens, and even if I were, I meant what I said about not prying into your life. But I know you were shielding back at the restaurant. This won’t work if you hide how you feel from me.”

She’d never promised that before, and it wasn’t easy to, but after a moment she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” As she flushed with pleasure, he added, “I see you haven’t grown out of your praise kink.”

She laughed, nuzzling her cheek against his denim-clad thigh, seeking his warmth. “No, sir. I have not.”

“I’m glad. I can tell how much you want to please me, little one. And I don’t doubt that you will.” She felt his thumb brush her bottom lip, and she pressed her lips to it, her tongue darting out to lap tenderly at his skin. “It’s been an emotional evening - I intended to play with you tonight, but if you want to relax or rest instead, that’s alright.”

She shook her head. It felt like she fit here, with him, and she was more comfortable with the whole situation than she’d expected to be. She was pliant under his touch and she could have knelt at his feet for hours, but she craved more.

“For a while, then,” he agreed. “The bath is down the hall, last door on the left. Get whatever you need and start the shower, I’ll be there in a moment.”

She rose from the floor, retrieving her bag, and made her way down the hall. A claw-footed tub sat a few feet from a glass-enclosed shower, the walls tiled with a painted blue mosaic. The floor was cool stone, but plush rugs protected her bare feet. She turned the shower on, running her hand beneath the water as she adjusted the knob slightly, hoping their temperature preferences were close enough. She waited to undress and step in, since she hadn’t been told to.

She didn’t have to wait long. Remus was shirtless and barefoot when he followed her, and she reveled in the sight of him, grateful he hadn’t ordered her to keep her gaze lowered. He whispered a quick, targeted diagnosis spell, first on himself and then on her, allowing the results to shimmer in the air long enough for her to check them before he canceled them with a wave of his hand. 

“Thank you.” It was her normal practice - checking for STIs and verifying for her partner that she was on a contraceptive potion - but it felt strange to initiate it with him.

He gave her a knowing smile as he drew her into his powerful arms, wrapping her up and sliding his hands down her back. She enjoyed the simple comfort of the embrace and rested her head against his chest as he found her zipper, his hands coming up to push the straps from her shoulders. The dress slipped over her hips and to the floor, leaving her in nothing but lace knickers. His hands curled around her hips, tugging the scrap of fabric down. She stepped out of both garments, cursing the uncertainty that she knew he noticed when she looked up at him.

He stepped back to take her in, tracing her collarbone and the beginning of Dolohov’s curse scar in a tender caress. That he bore a silvery pattern of old scars of his own across his torso didn’t entirely erase her self-consciousness, but the heat of his gaze was a welcome distraction. She drank in every inch of him in turn as he slipped out of his jeans, pleased to find he wore nothing underneath.

“My eyes are up here,” he teased, hooking a finger under her chin.

She blushed again; she couldn’t remember the last time she felt shy, but he brought it out. “It’s not my fault you’re so bloody tall,” she played it off. “Sir.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest and he fisted a hand in her hair, drawing a needy whimper from her throat. The slight twinge of pain was a warning, but also a thrill. “I don’t need to remind you to behave, do I?”

“N - no.” 

“Good.” He released her just enough to turn her so that she slotted neatly against his chest. He walked her forward until they were both standing under the water, his arms still encircling her, one hand splayed across her abdomen. 

Kissing her temple, he murmured, “Relax, little one. I’ve got you. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

She shut her eyes tightly. It was one of the reasons - perhaps the main reason - she craved submitting, but hearing it acknowledged out loud made her feel raw. She swallowed hard, soothed by his touch as he rubbed her shoulders and her neck, then worked her citrus shampoo into her hair, massaging her scalp. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt some of her tension melt away as she rested against him.

“My precious girl.” He gave her hair a light tug that made her breath catch. “I love how tactile you are.”

A serene smile played at her lips as he rinsed her hair and ran a washcloth over her arms and the front of her body. He hooked one arm around her waist for support as he nudged her forward to wash her back. 

When he was finished, he instructed her to stand facing the wall. She stepped out of the spray and felt him behind her as he took her hands and placed them against the tile above her head. One of his legs nudged hers to part, and he dipped his head to press kisses along the side of her neck.

“Stay just like this,” he instructed, his warm breath coaxing a shiver.

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice. _I’m so, so fucked._ He’d barely touched her, and she was already halfway gone. It would be a long night.

He soaped her legs and then worked his way up to her center. She hissed as the cloth touched her fevered flesh. He stood, chest to her back again, and she felt the steel of his arousal as he replaced the cloth with his hand, dipping one finger into her folds.

“So wet already, and not just from the shower,” he whispered against her ear. “Is this what you needed, little kitten?”

Her hips moved of their own accord and a deep shudder rippled through her as he brushed her clit, then stroked it slowly.

“Oh, God,” she whimpered. “Please don’t stop - “ It didn’t take her long to devolve into begging - begging him for more, begging him for permission to come, and when it wasn’t forthcoming, with some alarm, she quickly begged him to stop. “Please, sir, I can’t help it - “

He withdrew his hand, and she gave a little cry at the loss of it, closing her legs and pressing her thighs together in a vain attempt to ease the ache within her. As his hand cracked down on her ass, it took all of her strength to part her legs again.

“There’s my good girl. I know how badly you need it, but you like being tormented, don’t you?” He cupped one of her small breasts, grazing the nipple with his thumb. At her slight nod, she could hear the smile in his voice. “And I enjoy watching you struggle and seeing how sweetly you try to obey me. Here, I grade for effort, and there’s no way to fail. In fact, you could say that failure is sometimes the point.”

His words both reassured her and stoked the fire within. Suddenly, a warm, gentle spray fell over her, and she realized he’d detached the shower head; he rinsed the remnants of soap from her body, then replaced it and took care of his own ablutions.

Then he was behind her again, his fingertips trailing down her sides and over her hips. “Now. Mr. Bianchi was quite clear on your limits, but not on what you enjoy. While I look forward to discovering some of that myself, I have a few questions.” 

She nodded, trying to focus on his words and not get too distracted by the warmth of him and his gentle touch.

“We’ve covered orgasm control, which I’m pleased we share a fondness for,” he murmured. “Do you enjoy humiliation, Hermione?” He punctuated the question with a sudden slap against her clit, and she jerked slightly. 

She felt vulnerable, and not just because her legs were spread. No one asked what she wanted; she usually got enough of it while fulfilling their desires, though. 

“I - yes, very much. To a point.”

He dropped a kiss on her hair. “You’ll let me know if I approach that point. I want to turn you on, not break you down.”

“Yes, sir.”

He continued like that, asking her about restraints and rope and about various toys, surprising her with a question about breath play. Each time he gave a slap against her clit that kept her moaning. They came far apart enough, though, that she wasn’t in danger of breaking his rule.

“And pain? You’ve been quite vague about it.” Her hips bucked involuntarily, meeting empty air as his hand left her skin, and he chuckled.

“I can take as much as you wish to give,” she whispered.

“But?” he prompted, sliding an arm around her waist and hugging her close.

“I find some pain to be arousing or cathartic. But I’m not a hardcore masochist.”

He still held her, nuzzling at her neck and pressing a kiss to her shoulder, where the crocuses faded into the branches of a willow tree that spanned her back. 

“I have no doubt some have taken advantage of your tolerance for their own ends. I have no intention of doing that. You will tell me if I approach the point of really hurting you.”

She nodded, inhaling a shaky breath, not trusting herself to speak.

“Good.” He gave her a tender squeeze, then slid both of his hands up and along her arms, interlacing his fingers with hers and bringing her hands down from the wall. “Look at me.”

She turned to face him, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. An unusual desire struck her, for something she never wanted and rarely got. “I - may I kiss you, sir?”

His smile reached his eyes. “You may.” He lifted her easily, pressing her against the wall, which was pleasantly cool rather than cold; the steam from the falling water still heated the air. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist and wound one arm around his neck, stroking along his shoulder. With their height difference mostly sorted, she could see the striations of color in his green eyes and sense the warmth there. She leaned in to press her lips to his.

The kiss started slow and sweet and languid. He seemed content to take his time, letting her part his lips to explore his mouth. She felt him caress her tongue tenderly with his own and wished it would never end.

When she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth, he retaliated by fucking her mouth with his tongue as he pinned her to the wall. He shifted slightly so his cock nestled in her folds and she moaned into his mouth, grinding herself against his velvet warmth. 

She was breathless by the time he broke the kiss and brushed his lips over her cheek and neck, biting down until she gave a pleading little cry and dragged her nails lightly down his back. He throbbed against her, and though she’d kept herself under some semblance of control, he was slick with her.

“Is this what you want?” he murmured, tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue and then his teeth.

“Please,” she begged. “I want to taste you. I want to feel you inside of me. I need you, please, sir.”

He smiled against her skin, his voice weighty with promise. “I know you do, little one. Patience, though. I’m going to give you everything you need and want, in time.”

He disentangled her legs from his waist, slowly letting her down from the hold until she found her feet. She heard him whisper a cushioning charm; he surprised her by kneeling in front of her, picking up one of her legs and draping it over his shoulder.

“Brace yourself on my shoulders,” he instructed, and she did so with a shudder of anticipation.

He covered her with his mouth, his tongue sliding inside of her and caressing her inner walls with gentle strokes. His damp beard was a gentle prickle as he withdrew, only to curl his tongue around her clit. She arched her back, and this time she was the one tangling her hand in his hair.

His fingers replaced his tongue, one and then two sliding inside of her, making her feel deliciously full. She rocked her hips against his hand with abandon while he teased her clit with his tongue. “It’s too much - I can’t - oh - “

“Come for me, precious girl,” he murmured. As he sucked her clit into his mouth with the faintest brush of his teeth, he fucked her roughly. Shaking, she gave a sharp cry, gushing over his hand.

He withdrew his fingers, lapping up her wetness. She hissed as his tongue brushed her oversensitive clit again, squirming a little. To her relief, he lifted his head, taking her hand and helping her balance as he lowered her leg from his shoulder. His other hand came to her waist to hold her steady as he rose from the floor. 

Once he was at his full height, she tucked herself against him, still trembling. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered. 

“You’re welcome.” He held her close until she settled and found her legs, then guided her back under the warm spray.

After they were both rinsed, he turned the water off and toweled her dry. “Take your time. I want you to meet me in the room next door when you’re ready. If you’ve brought any toys with you, put them on the table near the door, and kneel there.”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaned down to press a chaste kiss to her lips, then turned, casting a quick drying charm on himself as he gathered his clothes and left the room.

It didn’t take her long to finish the necessities and put her hair to rights, weaving it into a loose braid to keep it back from her face. She folded her clothes and put them back in her Extended bag, fishing around for the case that held her toys - insertables and her favorite flogger.

The door next to the bath led into a decently sized playroom, outfitted in the same colors as the rest of the house rather than the stereotypical dark hues. Clerestory windows lined the walls near the ceiling, admitting shafts of moonlight, and small sconces provided low lighting. 

She studied the room as she laid out what she’d brought with her. Spare and elegantly laid out, it held a venerable collection of hard points, including one above the enormous bed that occupied the center of the space. A St. Andrew’s cross, spanking bench, and massage table lined the edges of the room, and a plush loveseat took up one corner, with a chest nearby.

There was little in the way of adornment on the walls, save for some implements on display - several floggers, a riding crop, a wooden paddle, and a couple of coiled single tails. Hermione would have liked to admire the leather work, but she knelt on the rug by the door instead, sitting back on her heels and clasping her hands at the small of her back.

She didn’t have long to wait. When Remus came in, he was back in jeans, barefoot and shirtless. He surveyed the table in silence, picking up her flogger and testing its weight before setting it back down. 

He wound her braid around his fist, tugging her up onto her knees. She nuzzled at his hip as he pulled her against him, enjoying the closeness. He released her only long enough to clasp a slender band of leather around her neck, and she felt the familiar weight of a small steel O-ring against her throat. 

The sensation of being collared - temporary though it was - never failed to soothe her. He wrenched her up with a sharp tug and she moaned as she found her feet.

He studied her for a few moments before he led her to the bed by his grip on her hair. As she laid down on her back, he fastened supple leather cuffs around her wrists, binding them together and stretching her arms above her head to anchor them there. In contrast, he attached the cuffs on her ankles to the posts at either end of the bed, spreading her apart.

He trailed his fingertips up her side and over her chest as he knelt between her thighs. His thumb grazed the hollow of her throat and when she tilted her head slightly to allow him more access, he encircled her throat with his hand, not squeezing, simply letting her feel the weight of his touch.

“Who do you belong to, Hermione?”

She resisted the urge to close her eyes against the emotions he brought up - with the primal possessiveness inherent in the gesture, with the heat of his gaze, and with his words.

She was out of her depth; this wasn’t like any other weekend. It would be the height of self-deception to pretend otherwise. 

“You, sir.”

“That’s right,” he whispered, smoothing her hair back from her face. “And you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

“Y - yes, sir.”

He smiled at her, nuzzling his nose to hers and drawing her into a kiss. His fingertips trailed down her body and stroked the inside of her thighs until, with the ministrations of both his mouth and his hands, she was mewling.

Then he began.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on. At first, she felt a flash of panic at the possibility of coming without permission, but by the third time he brought her to the edge of orgasm, she realized he was being deliberate about it - playing her like a favorite instrument, seeing how far he could push without dragging her over. She relaxed a fraction at the knowledge that she wouldn’t break his rules, but the relief was short-lived.

She’d been edged plenty of times before, but never like this, not with the way he varied his movements so she never knew what was coming. Not with the patient way he kissed her - her lips, her face, her neck, her breasts - and murmured softly, soothing the raw need he aroused with his voice, reminding her she belonged in his arms, reminding her of how much she pleased him.

Eventually, after a while - it could have been an hour or three - she was sobbing wordlessly, out of her mind with it. This time, he had two fingers inside of her and had begun to give her a third, stroking her slowly as her inner walls shuddered around him. When the tears came and she clamped down on his fingers, he withdrew his hand, drawing a desperate whine from her throat.

“Shh, sweet girl, shh." He freed her legs and let her wind them around him, sliding one arm beneath her back to hold her close as he soothed her, kissing her tears away. She realized that somehow in her haze he’d removed his only vestige of clothing when she felt the steel of his erection against her soaked flesh. “Is this what you need?”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded. He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. She tilted her head slightly to press her lips to his palm, and he gently maneuvered her until she met his eyes again. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured softly. “You can come as many times as you need to.”

She had only a second to absorb his words before he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and entered her, and though she tightened her other leg around his waist in encouragement, he was slow and methodical about it. 

The slickness of her arousal and the way he’d stretched her with his fingers eased the passage, but distantly, the thought occurred to her that he must have worried he would hurt her. It left her - along with the rest of her coherent thoughts - as he seated himself fully inside. With the first thrust, the maddening drag of him along her inner walls, she clenched around him and came entirely apart.

To her immense relief, he stopped being such a gentleman after that, his thrusts slow but firm, until they weren’t slow anymore and she came a second time and a third as his hips slammed down to meet hers. With a harsh growl, he followed her over the edge, filling her completely and burying his face in her neck. She clutched at him, holding him deep inside of her until the intense waves subsided. 

When he came to himself, he lowered her leg and rose onto his knees. She protested the loss with a soft whimper, and he chuckled quietly. 

“Just a moment, and then I’m all yours, I promise.”

He unhooked her wrists and removed the cuffs, massaging her gently and checking to make sure her skin hadn’t chafed or bruised. Then he gathered her to him and rolled onto his back until she was straddling his hips, her head settled on his chest. Her heartbeat attuned with his while he unbraided her hair and rubbed soft circles over her back. The room darkened around them as he extinguished the sconces with magic. 

“Thank you, master,” she whispered quietly into the moonlit dark. The weightier honorific came out before she could catch herself, and she decided she liked the way it felt in her mouth, at least with him.

He paused his gentle stroking for a moment. “No, little one. Thank you.” 

She felt his lips against her forehead, and that was all she recalled before she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Hermione stared down in horror at Javier’s broken body. She knelt above him, casting spell after spell, but it was in vain - he was too far gone. She heard someone calling her name and Javi’s face became Remus’s, eyes sightless in death.

“Hermione!”

With a shake, the image was gone, but the horror wasn’t. As her vision adjusted to the dark room, she realized Remus hovered above her, very much alive, but it took a few minutes to sink in as she trembled uncontrollably. 

_Get it together,_ she berated herself. _You’re stronger than this._ With effort, the shock subsided after a few moments.

“I’m sorry for waking you.”

Remus looked at her as if she were a few crumpets short of a full tea service. “Don’t be,” he said, pulling her close as she sat up. “I’m glad I was here. You were so quiet, I wouldn’t have woken if I didn’t feel you shaking.”

That was, in fact, the point. She’d long since learned how to stop screaming her nightmares, but she still had them.

“Min, who’s Javi? You kept whispering his name.” He tucked a lock of sweat-dampened hair behind her ear. 

_Fuck_. “It’s nothing, Remus.” She forced the words out past the constriction in her throat.

It was obvious he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press the issue, which was enough. “Do you want me to stay with you?” 

She usually stipulated separate sleeping arrangements, though it didn’t bother her that they’d fallen asleep together in the wake of their activities. Truthfully, she wanted him to stay, to keep holding her. She wanted the chance to let go of the responsibilities she carried like an albatross around her neck. 

And that was exactly why she couldn’t ask him to.

“No, I’ll be fine. I rarely have more than one a night.” That was a straight-up lie, but she’d gotten good enough at it that he only searched her face for a moment.

“Alright.”

He stood and lifted her from the bed before she could protest, carrying her bridal-style to a room just across the hall. He turned back the sheets with a spell, settling her in the bed there and summoning her bag, which he placed on the nightstand. Through the gauzy curtains, the moon and stars illuminated the ocean.

“This is your room. I’m just next door, if you need me. Don’t hesitate.”

“Thank you.”

He held her gaze for a few more moments, like he wanted to say something else, before he dropped a kiss to her hair and turned to go.

Hermione pulled the duvet around her. She wanted to set an undetectable silencing ward, just in case, but the knowledge that he’d be upset if he discovered it stayed her hand. She traced the edge of the thin leather collar she still wore with her fingertips. 

_You’re being ridiculous. Javi’s having a blast in Paris and Remus is perfectly safe._

It still took her a long time to fall into a restless sleep.


	4. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, THESE TWO. Ugh. My heart.
> 
> Anyway, surgery coming up so daily posting may drop off, but the draft is nearly completed and I plan to post the whole thing over the next 2-3 weeks.
> 
> Content warning for bad BDSM etiquette in this and a few of the later chapters, but in the 'bottom withholding information' sense, not in the abuse sense.

_Wait for me, I’ll be coming slower down  
_ _Wait for me, I’ll be coming_  
 _And you’re fire but sweet, hot coals ‘neath my feet_  
 _Warm blood, body, and I lost it when you found me_  
 _You’re whispers and sunlight, cold hands feeling for mine_  
 _Warm love, softly, never letting  
Never letting love go_

flor, “warm blood”

Saturday, August 22, 2009

_Who hurt you, Min? Why do you act like you're still at war?_

Remus sat in the chair next to Hermione's bed. In sleep, she looked younger, peaceful even.

He meant what he said on their walk the night before. He left his anger behind years before when he and Ron stopped searching for her. But he was worried, and becoming attached, though he accepted that with more ease than he'd expected.

She might not be willing to talk, and he might have promised not to pry or dig, but that didn't prevent him from putting the observational skills he'd honed as Albus's spy in the werewolf clans to use. On the Remus Lupin morality scale, protecting the people you cared about ranked above following the spirit of the law - or, in this case, contract.

It worked in his favor that she seemed so used to her strange way of life and so unused to being around people who actually knew her. She wasn't as good at dissembling with him as she imagined.

His eyes still scanned the page, but piecing together the puzzle of her distracted him from the book in his hands. She spoke flawless French - and Spanish, last night in her nightmares - both without a trace of her mellow Surrey accent. She could do wandless and nonverbal magic with ease, something most people found draining and difficult to master. Her venerable collection of scars suggested torture far beyond what she'd endured at Bellatrix Lestrange's hands.

And she radiated such intense guilt and fear that it broke his heart.

He paused halfway through the chapter when her breathing quickened. When he glanced up, he noticed her tense, scan the room, and relax when she remembered where she was - a reflex he knew well, one that had taken him years of peace to shake. She rolled towards him, regarding him with complete calm. She'd already sensed his presence.

"Good morning," he said with a smile that belied his concern, marking his page and setting the paperback on the windowsill next to the chair.

She stretched and yawned, squinting at the book. " _Como Agua para Chocolate_ , Remus? I never pegged you for the chick lit type."

"Number one, it's an epic love story, not 'chick lit,'" he replied with mock indignance, stowing his musing for the moment. "And number two, I need to brush up on my Spanish. It took me a few years to get fluent in French, but I'm given to understand that one isn't a true European unless one speaks at least three languages." Also, Robbie was badgering him for a weekend trip to Barcelona, and the kid was worse than him at languages, which was saying something.

She sat up and broke into a gale of laughter. "That's one way to gauge it, I suppose." She cast Temporus and swore. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because I wanted you to sleep," he said, standing and retrieving the book. He dropped a kiss in her hair. "No need to hurry."

When she emerged from the bath awhile later in nothing but a short silk dressing gown, he was just finishing the cooking. She took the seat across from him at his small dining table.

"This is too much," she said, taking in the spread of omelets, fruit, and muffins.

"Nonsense, I intend to make you work it off later," he teased. "I hope you still take your tea the same way."

"You remembered," she breathed. "Yeah, I do." She dug into a muffin. "Who made your floggers? I didn't have the chance to look at them yesterday."

"The same person who made yours, if I'm not mistaken."

"Tytos does excellent work. I've been meaning to commission a new one from him - something heavier, maybe."

The one she had was just heavy enough for a decently thuddy impact. When she'd told him she wasn't much of a masochist, he expected she enjoyed it more for sensation and catharsis than anything else.

"I have one that might suit, if you want to try it out sometime." She nodded. "I don't believe I've ever seen you around Nox, not even in your glamor."

"No, I don't do public," she replied, sipping her tea. "Ryan's a friend, I met them both through Cesare. You must go often, though - it's unlike him to give references."

"Not much anymore, just enough to keep up my skills." After the divorce, he'd dated a few submissives, but nothing worked out for long and he eventually stopped hoping. These days, attending a workshop or putting a girl up in rope to make sure he didn't go rusty was about as far as it got, despite Ryan's attempts to matchmake.

He'd argued with himself for the last couple of years about packing it in and accepting his bachelorhood, but after holding Hermione in his arms, he was grateful he never did. Maybe the gods weren't done with him yet.

_You're getting ahead of yourself. You may never see her again._

_Too late to turn back now. You were a goner the moment she knelt, old man._

"You okay?" Her soft voice drew him from his thoughts.

"Yes." He finished his own tea and stood, rounding the table and standing behind her. He wrapped his hand lightly around her throat, enjoying the way her breath caught. She set the fork down and tilted her head to look up at him. "Do you remember what I said last night about humiliation and pain?"

"Yes, sir. I'll tell you, I promise."

"Good girl. I know you want to obey me, and I won't ever hurt you because you've disappointed me, or because I'm angry with you. Do you understand?"

She nodded as he released her throat and played with the strap of her gown. "There's no rush. When you're done, I want you to go to the playroom. Put in your medium plug - the glass one - and kneel in front of the couch." After their conversation in the shower yesterday, he doubted she had any reluctance when it came to denying her own needs for what she thought were his wants, so he added, "I mean it, Min. Take your time."

"Alright," she murmured, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

Keeping an eye out in case she followed him too soon, Remus went to the playroom and used a shrinking charm to reduce his favorite suspension frame to a manageable size. Summoning his rope bag and a few large blankets, he carried everything through the patio door in the master bedroom and out to an area of his small beach where the sand was tightly packed enough.

The touristy spots were much further down and careful wards meant everyone else left his little slice of heaven alone, so he hoped she would indulge him in some outdoors play later.

He enlarged the frame to its original size, testing its stability on the sand and enchanting everything he'd brought to be impervious to both that and the weather. By the time he made it back inside and took off his shoes, Hermione waited for him.

He turned on the small CD player by the door, setting it low enough to offer ambiance without being overwhelming. Her smile as she glanced his direction told him he wasn't the only Depeche Mode fan in the room.

Remus took a seat on the couch, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow and whispering a quick Carnalis, a subtle aphrodisiac spell he'd created himself. "Strip," he ordered her.

The parting of her lips told him when she felt the effects, her emotions and physical sensations heightening.

"Oh, that's not _fair_ ," she whimpered as she dragged the silk over her head and the fabric slid over her nipples, making her breath hitch. She cast the garment aside.

"Quiet. If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it." His voice was sharp. She met his gaze, and he looked her up and down, raising an eyebrow. "No panties, I see. Optimistic little tease, aren't you?"

She blushed, and he didn't need his wolfish sense of smell to know she was aroused. He leaned forward to draw his finger along her folds, grazing her clit. He was rewarded with a pleading moan as she shuddered, and it pleased him to see she'd begun to give herself over to the sensations.

He paused with his mouth next to her ear. "The best thing about this charm is that it feeds on your own arousal and dampens with your resistance. If you weren't such a needy little slut, you wouldn't be in this predicament, kitten."

Her conditions stipulated 'bitch' and 'whore' were off limits, along with 'pet,' so Remus hoped he wasn't overstepping with that one - but judging by the way she moaned again when he said it, he'd hit his target.

As he sat back, he had the presence of mind to cast a warming charm - though her flushed skin suggested she might not need it - before fisting his hand in her hair and pulling her forward until she nuzzled his cock through his trousers. "Is this what you want, little one?" His voice was softer, inviting this time.

She nodded, pressing her lips together as if trying to keep herself from begging. He was surprised by how she seemed to crave it; he'd met women who enjoyed giving head, but none of them had ever looked at him in the enraptured way she did now. He unfastened his trousers, shifting just enough to free his cock and allow her access.

She brushed her lips against it and then the softness of her cheek, her hair spilling out of his hand and over his lap. He hissed as she dragged her tongue up the length of it, already hard, loosening his grip to allow her to have her way with him.

And she did, lapping up the pre-cum collecting at the head and sucking him into her mouth, her eyes catching his for a long moment as she took him inch by inch. He resisted the urge to buck his hips against her mouth, groaning as she drew back and then took him all the way in until the head of his cock touched the back of her throat. She sucked eagerly then, each stroke more intense, her hand cupping his balls.

The hum of her needy sounds threatened to undo him. He noticed with satisfaction that she was pressing her thighs together as she quivered. He tightened his grip in her hair, fucking her mouth gently.

Another wordless moan left her throat as he murmured, "Look at you, being such a good slut for your master's cock." He wondered how far she could get without direct stimulation and with the aid of the charm.

His words and the force of his grip joined with his quickening pace to carry her over the edge; he felt a deep shudder ripple through her as she devoured him, almost choking on him. It was one of the hottest things he'd ever seen.

He pulled her off his cock and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, enjoying the way she whimpered and flushed with embarrassment.

"Breathe, little one, in and out.” Once she recovered, he withdrew his touch. "You may speak now. Have you disobeyed me?"

She looked down, biting her lip and pressing her thighs together again. "I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't help it - "

"I'm not interested in your excuses. Spread your legs and let me see the mess you've made."

She shivered, digging her nails into her thighs as she parted them. He could see her juices glistening on her thighs and a small damp spot on the rug beneath her. He'd caught on last night that she was like a fucking fountain, and he loved it.

"Your lack of control disappoints me. Tell me why you disobeyed me, and no excuses this time."

He waited for her to find the words. "I just - I needed to taste you so badly, I crave you, and I love sucking your cock, sir. It turns me on so much. I couldn't help it."

He stroked the silky expanse of her throat with his fingertips, savoring the soft noises that escaped her. "Yes, I've noticed how wanton you are, and I'd like to see it up close. Crawl to the bed - I want you on all fours with your ass in the air."

He appreciated that she didn't hesitate, taking in the view of her hips and ass swaying as she crawled. He gave her a moment to get settled on the bed, her head resting on a pillow, then he buttoned his trousers and joined her, standing behind her. She tensed a little as she sensed him there.

He could see the pink of her slit up close at this angle, along with the base of the glass plug in her ass. It took an impressive amount of self-control not to devour her. He slid his hands over her back and hips in a soothing caress, drawing a soft sigh as he traced the trunk of the weeping willow that followed the curve of her spine.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson in self-control, kitten. If you come while I spank you, we're going to have a problem. Is that understood?"

She shivered at the threat. "Yes, sir. I'll control myself, I promise. Thank you."

His hand wasn't Remus’s favorite tool to use for impact, and he knew that Hermione's tastes ran more towards the thuddy end. But it did offer the benefit of being able to more easily soothe and tease her between blows and to quickly shift the intensity while he learned her responses.

He started gentle, with a regular pattern of strikes, until she was squirming and whimpering and her ass and upper thighs were a pale pink. She pressed back to him as if seeking more, and he gave it to her with a firm smack that elicited a slight cry, reddening her skin.

He continued the pattern, following the sharper blows with tender caresses, petting her and ghosting his fingertips along her skin. He could tell the charm still worked its effects, but that wasn't the only thing lighting the fuse of need within her. Soon, her ass was glowing and her soft cries came with each harder hit, but she didn't try to escape his hand.

He ceased not long after anyway. She trembled from the endorphin rush as he soothed her with his touch.

When she calmed a bit, he nudged her legs further apart until she was spread obscenely. She moaned as he gave her clit a gentle slap, her hips bucking against the air. "Fucking hell."

"Do you want to come?" he asked in a conversational tone, giving her pussy another smack before she could respond.

She breathed in sharply, whimpering. "Please, I need to feel you inside of me, sir."

"Mm, it's not time for that yet," he murmured, rewarded with a moan as he tapped the base of the plug. "How badly do you need to come?" When his fingertips ghosted along her slit, barely making contact, she gave a violent jerk.

"I can't - I can't think about anything else, sir. I'll try harder to be good, I promise. Please let me come," she pleaded, pressing back to him.

Remus trailed his fingertips down her spine. "You look so lovely with your ass in the air and your legs spread, leaking down your thighs, soaking wet from your punishment and still begging for more. I'm tempted to deny you just so you can keep showing me how much you crave it." At her frustrated moan, he trailed his hand up her inner thigh, his voice softening. "But I'm a forgiving man. You have permission to come as much as you need for the rest of the day, little one."

A fraction of the tension melted from her body at his words. He stood next to her and pressed her shoulders into the bed until she arched up further, then slid two fingers inside her slick entrance. She shuddered, grinding her hips back against his hand, and he fucked her with slow strokes, knowing the charm and her own arousal would sensitize the drag of his skin against her.

"Oh, God - " She whimpered as he eased another finger inside of her. His thumb brushed her clit and she jerked again, crying out against the pillows, clenching around his fingers.

"Fuck my fingers, there you go, just like that." She slammed her hips back against his hand as he murmured encouragement, and the next time he grazed her clit she screamed into the pillow, flooding his hand, her entire body shaking. He stroked her through the waves of her orgasm.

When she sunk into the sheets, he caught her, pulling her to kneel with her back against his still-clothed chest, his arm wrapped around her waist. As his breath grazed her ear, he could tell she was floating. He lifted his fingers to her lips and she exhaled a quiet moan as she sucked them clean.

"Do you enjoy tasting yourself on me, sweet girl?" he murmured.

She released his fingers and he hugged her close, his hands resting over her stomach. "Yes, sir. It makes me feel - debauched."

"Yes, you are that." He nuzzled into her neck with a quiet laugh. "And beautiful. How are you feeling?"

"I don't have words," she whispered. "Exposed. Aroused. You succeeded marvelously on the mindfuck front."

"Good." He pressed a kiss to her temple as her head lolled back against his shoulder. "Do you want more, or do you need a break?"

"More, please, but - I'm afraid of being overwhelmed."

Like him, he sensed she was a hedonist, and he enjoyed the way she chased sensation and gave herself up to it wholly, whether through simple affection, through serving him, or through sex.

"Feel whatever you need to, kitten. I welcome all of it. You remember your safe word, yes?"

At her nod, he murmured, "Good girl." He helped her down from the bed and bent her over it instead. She found her feet as he took her hands and placed them on the sheets above her head.

He unbuttoned his trousers again, situating himself behind her as his cock glided through her folds. She gasped at the sensation, fisting her hands in the sheets when he entered her.

He did so inch by slow inch, taking his sweet time; the night before had been a tight fit, but between the angle and the size of the plug she wore, she clung to him like a vice now. The way she whimpered told him she hovered at the edge of pleasure and pain, of just enough and too much.

"Relax, little one, don't tense up on me," he instructed, brushing her hair aside so he could kiss her shoulder and the side of her neck. As she exhaled and her tension melted away, he bottomed out inside of her and she gave a strangled moan. "There you go. Are you alright?"

She nodded, her voice thick with emotion. "Please don't stop." He thought she might be crying; she meant the words, though, and he trusted her to tell him if it was too much.

He stayed like that for awhile, buried in her, stroking her side and hip tenderly before pulling back a couple of inches and thrusting into her again. He kept that rhythm, rocking into the deepest part of her, never pulling out very far, letting her whimpers work their way from her throat. From the way she quivered and clenched around his cock, it was as if she rode the edge of orgasm the entire time, as if the sensation was so overwhelming she couldn't quite let herself topple over.

Eventually, he encircled her hip with one arm, his fingers finding her clit. He stroked once, twice, and then she shattered with a keening cry, the force of her climax milking his own.

When he pulled himself free, she was still shaking. He undid his earlier charm and she whimpered at the slight discomfort when he removed the plug.

"I know, sweet girl, I know." He cast a few cleansing charms and set the glass aside as he turned off the music.

He lifted her onto the bed and laid down next to her. She faced him, lying on her side, and he pulled her to his chest, letting her curl up against him and bury her face in the soft cotton of his shirt as he stroked her hair.

"Shh, I've got you," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. She stayed like that for awhile, so closely pressed against him that it was as if she wanted to crawl inside his skin. He wondered how she could breathe.

After awhile, she lifted her head, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks. Remus tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just - don't usually do - that." The palpable discomfort with which she said it made it clear she referred to the crying and not the double penetration.

"But you needed to." He rubbed her back, still holding her close.

She tucked her head against his chest again. "Seems that way. I enjoyed everything you did, though - you didn't hurt me."

He'd hoped as much, but her reassurance made him feel better about pushing her so hard. "That's enough for now. We have a couple of hours - it'll be an early dinner, I have a surprise for you after."

"I don't like surprises." Her small voice was muffled against his shirt.

He chuckled. "I promise you'll enjoy this one." He also hoped it might relax her enough that she'd sleep better than she did the night before. "What do you want to do now?"

"Could we just - stay like this?" The words emerged in a shy whisper as she looked up at him, and he marveled that the woman who enjoyed such intense pleasures would clam up this way when it came to asking for simple affection.

He smiled as he brushed his lips against hers. "Of course."

* * *

When Hermione woke in the late afternoon, he’d left her ensconced in a warm blanket. She still felt the memory of his arms around her, and the tenderness between her legs was a welcome reminder of their earlier activities.

She spent awhile in the bath and debated a moment before braiding her hair again. He'd often end up unbraiding it to soothe her or use it as leverage, and she enjoyed both, but she wasn't sure of his plans for the evening and whether it might be in the way.

She pulled on the silk dressing gown she'd worn earlier and followed the scent of thyme to the kitchen, where Remus stood over the stove. She watched him for a little while, leaning against the door frame and savoring the view, before giving into her craving for touch and crossing the room to embrace him from behind.

"Well, hello there," he said, his eyes still on the pot he was stirring as he reached to pull her around and tuck her into his side.

She stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to his jaw. "Hi. What are you making?"

"You’ll see." He smiled at her, giving her a tender squeeze as he reached forward to turn the stove off. Though the kitchen ran on magic, it was designed like a Muggle one. It reminded her of the Burrow. "Go sit, I'll be there in a second."

She texted Cesare with a quote from Marcus Aurelius this time - 'Be tolerant with others and strict with yourself.' She turned her phone off and banished it back to her room as she sat down.

Dinner turned out to be a salmon-topped salad with a side of vegetable soup. Their shared love of seafood brought back memories of dinners together at Grimmauld Place and the Burrow, and she found herself - despite her guilt and the many complications - overwhelmed with gratitude that serendipity had brought them together again.

Soon enough, the meal was over, and though she didn't care for surprises, she was eager to satisfy her curiosity.

She cleared the table and washed the dishes, glad he let her indulge her love of service; his constant attentiveness was sweet, but this fulfilled a need for her just as much as kneeling at his feet. When the dishes were returned to the cabinets, he startled her by picking her up as he had the night before.

"Remus! You can't just _carry_ me everywhere," she protested as she nuzzled into his neck.

"I don't see anyone here to stop me," he retorted with a playful growl, stepping out onto the back porch and descending the stairs.

She'd been too preoccupied with their activities to survey the beach before, but the warm evening breeze caressed her skin and an explosion of brilliant red-orange split the blue sky as the sun descended. The awkward angle of being carried meant she didn't notice the suspension frame until they were next to it. She felt a flicker of unease as Remus enchanted a few blankets to stretch themselves over the sand below it, then let her find her feet.

"I always thought you hated flying," he said, unzipping the bag that sat nearby.

"Flying in the stability of rope is less suicidal than flying on a flimsy twig. And I enjoy the high of it - pun intended."

Remus laughed as he hooked a series of steel carabiners at the top of the frame and retrieved hanks of hemp rope from the bag. "Yes, it's a better intoxicant than Firewhisky, and some might say it's far more entertaining than Quidditch, too."

"Are we really going to do this - outside?" she asked.

"I would like to, yes, but I won't force it. Test the wards if it makes you feel better, sweet girl."

She did - they were decent enough, though not as extensive as she preferred.

 _Chill. Act like a goddamn person for once._ She clenched and unclenched her hands. "Alright."

"I have a few spells that protect from the elements and the sand, so that won't be an issue," he said, coming over to her and winding his arms around her waist.

"Necessity is the mother of invention?" she joked as she rested her head against his chest. He was trying to put her at ease.

"Something like that." He stroked her hip. "I have a question."

"Yes?" she asked as he drew back to look at her.

"I noticed fire play is a limit."

Hermione stepped back, her fingertips automatically tracing the hidden scar on the right side of her chest. To him, it would just look like a nervous tic, she hoped.

"Yes." She'd been a fan once, though she only tried it with Cesare because of the risks involved. But now the threat of burning flesh implied by a lit fire wand or flogger - no matter how responsibly wielded - sent her into flashbacks of the branding and the other things she'd endured in those awful days.

She'd caught on that Remus liked to play in the deep end - so did she, and she wouldn't have batted an eyelash given the skill and care he displayed if it weren't for her triggers. It was a breach not to share them with him, but she couldn't bring herself to open that Pandora's box now. She hoped that one day, if they got to that conversation, he would forgive her for it.

"What about wax?"

"Yeah, that would be okay." She couldn't remember the last time she'd done it, but it was relatively tame and the sensation differed enough that she thought it would be alright. She could be near candles without freaking out.

"Are you sure?" He still studied her, taking her hand from her chest to give it a gentle squeeze.

At her nod, he directed her to kneel at the center of the frame, conjuring a small lantern to hover nearby as the sun went down. The air was still warm, heavy with the salt scent of the sea.

Hermione sat back on her heels. She didn't have long to wait before he dropped down behind her, his fingertips trailing along her skin. Divesting her of her thin silk gown, he set it aside, leaving just the bra and knickers he'd asked her to wear.

He dragged her back against his chest until her head was resting on his shoulder, tracing her mouth and her throat with a length of rope. She closed her eyes as he brushed her hair back from her forehead, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pressing his lips to her temple. He held her like that until she relaxed completely, focused on nothing but the warmth of his body and the sound of the waves.

Only then did he pull her braid forward over one shoulder and begin to slip sensuous lengths of rope above and below her blush silk bra. He wound the rope over her shoulders; his fingertips grazed her skin, trailing down to her wrists and drawing a flood of goosebumps as he bent her arms until they met at the small of her back. He guided her to fold forward over her lap so he could complete the intricate pattern, then slipped a length of silk over her eyes, knotting it behind her head.

She always found the constriction comforting, and with her sight gone she could slip under the ocean of sensation he created as his hands and his rope caressed her skin. She didn't fear flying, not like this, because she knew he would give her a soft place to land. He pulled her back against him by the web of knots at her back, winding her braid around his hand and tilting her head to the side to bare her neck to him. The tender bite he left there made her exhale a shuddered whimper.

She felt the loss of him as he stood, and he hoisted her by the harness until she unfolded from the ground and came to her feet. He continued until she stood on tiptoe and steadied her with a hand on her hip. She hadn't realized she was tensing until he murmured, "Relax, kitten, let it hold you."

She did, allowing her head to fall forward as her torso bent slightly and she gave her weight over to the harness. He hugged her in against his side for a moment, where she savored his touch, his warmth.

When he let her go, she felt him in front of her, repeating the same intricate motions around her hips. She exhaled a soft gasp as his fingertips brushed her inner thighs, ghosting along the thin silk of her panties.

He slid his hand along her right leg, lifting it until her knee was bent and leaving her to balance on her left. Supported only by one leg and the ropes around her chest, she hovered unsteadily as he wound more rope around her upper thigh and ankle, binding them in a series of knots and repeating the motion downward until he reached her knee. His mouth brushed her hipbone.

The air shifted; he was gone for a moment, and then a rush of heat ran down her spine, making her flinch and whimper. She almost lost her balance before she gave into the sensation and the flood of endorphins that followed. She forgot everything else when he pulled her back against him; she could feel the strength of his embrace and the steel of his arousal as he stroked her hips.

"Did you enjoy that, little kitten?" He took her hair in his fist and pulled until she stood up.

She exhaled a trembling moan. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

He kissed her shoulder and slowly released her back into the hold of the harness. She felt the gentle pull that meant he was tying something off above her, and then her bound leg was hoisted behind her. He suspended her facing the ground, and she curled her bare left leg under her body.

She floated, set adrift in space and time by the push of his hands, the air rushing past her skin. When the spinning slowed, he took her left ankle and lifted it up behind her until her back arched, restraining it near the top of the frame. The angle was tight and it took her a moment to adjust, but she enjoyed it, a pleasured sigh escaping her as his hand trailed down her leg.

He chased his touch with that delicious heat along her thigh and she kicked once before she settled - only to feel him continue the pattern, leaving a trail of wax over her lower back and shoulders. She shuddered, her torso contracting involuntarily with the contact, before she gave in again and sank into the rope.

She wanted to beg, but she didn't even know what to beg for. Just more of this - more of this sweetness, this tender pain, this safety, this belonging. More sensation. More of being seen and held from the inside out.

When he pulled her head up gently by her hair, he crouched in front of her and lifted the blindfold for a moment, his lips meeting hers. She saw her bliss reflected in his eyes as he moaned into her mouth. After a few moments, he replaced the blindfold, releasing his grip and pulling her in against him again as he caressed her back.

"My precious girl. I adore you, you know." His voice was soft, and Hermione nuzzled her cheek to his chest as her throat constricted with the sweetness of it.

He let her go and she felt the tug of adjustment - and then she fell forward with a gasp as he released the chest harness a foot or two, her braid tumbling down as she hung at a diagonal. His gentle push against her hips sent her swinging in a broad arc, and she shivered, dizzy and exhilarated.

When she stilled, his hands roamed her body until she was whimpering. He spun her again and she surrendered to the weightless, dizzying sensation. When she came to a slow stop, he lowered her hips and shifted the hold until she was lying suspended on her right side, her left leg still lifted above, leaving her open and aching.

He was behind her, maybe, when she felt the rush of the wax along her left side, and she gave a little cry. Each flash of heat sent a fresh wave of want to her core. His hand trailed up her thigh again, grazing her soaked panties until she trembled.

"You look so beautiful like this," he whispered against her ear, pulling her hair back so that his breath caressed her neck. "Flying and floating, bound and open and needy for me."

She flushed with arousal, too far gone to have the grace for shame. Her hips pressed to his hand as much as her bindings would allow. He stroked along the outside of her panties, tapping her clit through the soaked fabric, enough to draw a string of incoherent pleas from her lips.

"Shh," he murmured, lowering her until she lay on her side and her stomach, the soft velvet of the blanket a cushion against the sand. He slid something - a pillow - beneath her head, and then the wax painted a trail along the outside of her thigh and she was lost.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that he was untying her legs and hips, and as he did, she stretched them a bit and relaxed into the blanket. He curled one hand around her hip, rolling her back to him so that she lay on her back, half in his lap. She cried out as heat erupted along her stomach, arching up.

He soothed her with his hands, stroking her stomach and her breasts until she was languid and pliant under his touch. Then he lifted her and settled her between his legs, her back against his chest and her legs stretched in front of her as her head fell back onto his shoulder. He slipped the blindfold from her eyes, but she kept them closed.

As he untied the chest harness, he let her fall forward to work at the knots. He pulled her back against him once more, unwinding the rope from her breasts and sweeping her hair aside to bare her neck, kissing her there.

He slipped her bra off and she shivered; as he cupped one breast and thumbed the peaked nipple, she arched her back and her thighs parted. She felt the brush of his thumb against her throat and then the light pressure of his hand there, and she whimpered, helpless and pleading, as the pattern of heat continued along the inside of her thighs.

He set the candle aside and his hands were on her, soothing her as her breath still came in brief gasps. He bit the place where her neck curved to meet her shoulder, drawing another quiet moan. Her lips parted as he drew another length of rope across her mouth and laid it against her throat in a tender caress.

His other hand traveled down her torso to her panties, slipping inside, and she shuddered as his fingers dipped into her folds and made their way up to her clit, stroking her and stoking the molten desire he'd kindled.

"You're mine." He tightened the rope against her throat for a fraction of a second before letting it fall away from her body, voice rough with emotion. "Do you hear me, little one? Your dreams, your nightmares, your joy, your suffering, your desire, your need. I will have all of you."

"Yes, master," she whispered, her voice breaking on the words as the pressure of his fingers against her clit sent her toppling over the edge, flying in a different way. She writhed under his hand, soaking him, quivering.

The waves were still subsiding when he brought his fingers to her lips and she sucked them into her mouth, tasting herself on him and tonguing him tenderly.

He enfolded her in a firm embrace, and she was so out of it that she didn't know how much time passed before he laid her onto the blanket and vanished her panties. He'd unbuttoned his jeans, and he let her cling to him with her legs as he drew her arms over her head, pinning them to the blanket, his fingers interlaced with hers as he held her there.

"Please," she whispered, savoring the sweetness of his mouth on hers as he fulfilled her wish, driving home in a single stroke.

When it was over, he picked her up and she buried her face in his neck as he carried her inside, first to the bath and then to her bed. She curled around a pillow, heavy-lidded, as he whispered a cleansing charm that erased the wax with the slightest tug at her skin. When he stood to go, she found herself reaching for his hand before she could think the better of it.

She caught sight of his face in the luminous dark and shut her eyes tight against the torrent of emotion threatening to pull her under.

This went against everything she knew, everything she was, except that she was also his.

"Please stay." It emerged a broken plea, and when she found the strength to open her eyes again, he smiled.

"You only have to ask."

He undressed and slid in behind her, his arm coming around her waist to hold her close. She forgot everything else, surrounded in him.


	5. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Hermione sings is the first part of Lost by Dermot Kennedy. (I might need an intervention for my Dermot Kennedy obsession, sorry not sorry. Luz does an excellent female cover.)

_We are made of our longest days  
_ _We are falling but not alone_  
 _We will take the best parts of ourselves and make them gold_  
 _We are made of our smallest thoughts  
We are breathing and letting go_  
 _We will take the best parts of ourselves and make them gold_

CHVRCHES, “Make Them Gold”

Monday, August 24, 2009

“You look chipper,” her handler observed as Hermione took the seat across from her on Monday afternoon and scanned little cafe in Madrid. “Good weekend?”

Hermione shot her a warning look. “Something like that.” 

‘Good’ was a wholly inadequate word for it, but she needed serious therapy to unpack everything she was feeling; after the intensity of Friday and Saturday, Sunday’s uncomplicated morning swim had come as a relief, letting her find something resembling solid ground before she had to go back to the hell of her life. 

Cass’s question, though, was more a reminder of her position than an inquiry into her emotional state.

“Relax, Kate, I’m not here to slap you on the wrist. Getting laid on a regular basis makes you a better agent. I appreciate that,” Cass replied dryly. She was a tall, severe woman with no capacity for bullshit; she reminded Hermione a bit of the late Severus Snape.

“Jesus, Cass, that was two steps away from a joke. Careful, or someone might think you’ve lost your edge.”

She just smirked and, once they’d ordered, set up a few undetectable spells around their little table to contain their conversation from prying eyes or ears. It was a habit Hermione had also picked up; they met only in Muggle restaurants and were careful to make sure they weren’t followed, but a little extra security never hurt.

Hermione’s mocha latte couldn’t come soon enough. She needed the caffeine and sugar to fortify her for what she had to say.

“He’s as bloodthirsty as ever,” she began without preamble. “When I got back to the compound last night, though, he asked me to make a new poison with some pretty specific properties. I haven’t worked out what the target is yet, but I will.” 

The demand had been a horrific end to her weekend with Remus, wrenching her back to her ugly reality.

“Poison - that’s not terribly inventive for him,” Cass observed.

“It’s different this time - he wants something that can be aerosolized with a spell to cause mass casualties.”

“Well, that changes things.” Cass’s tone was even, as always, but Hermione could see her own alarm mirrored in the set of the other woman’s shoulders. “A terror attack?”

“Yes. He wants a quick-acting antidote, too, which is odd - he usually has no problem ordering suicide missions. I figured I’d base the poison on a Muggle weapon, and creating a spell to aerosolize it is easy enough. But devising an antidote will be a bitch.”

“Did he give you a timeframe?”

“Halloween. It’s a tight deadline, but it could be worse. I don’t know how soon after that the attack will take place, though.” Worrying about what the target might be kept her up last night. 

Cass laid a hand on her arm. “Just focus on what’s in front of you, Kate. Keep your eyes and ears open. You’ll get the intel - you always do.”

Hermione wished she felt as confident, but this raised the stakes - it was beyond any of his previous attacks, or even Voldemort’s. Still, if they could prove it in the International Wizarding Court, he - and the rest of his men - would be locked away for life in a place far more secure than Azkaban. 

She just needed to hang on a little longer.

She stayed in Madrid for a few hours; sometimes she liked to walk and think. The chirp of her mobile interrupted her as she worked through an Arithmancy problem in her head.

“Hey, you.”

“Buona sera,” Cesare’s cheerful voice came through the phone. She felt the darkness that had settled over her since the previous evening lift a little at his familiar lilt. “Our Mr. Wolf would like to see you again - he seemed to think you’d bend your rules for him. You made quite the impression.”

Hermione laughed. “I suppose.” The upside of the shitshow that was currently her life was that when he gave her tasks like this, Escalante also gave her plenty of freedom to get them done - which meant she could work in more frequent weekends away. “I ought to be able to take the weekend of the fourth, if he’s free then.”

“I’ll check. I guess that means all went well?”

“Too well, really,” Hermione replied, her tone lighter than she felt. “The end of this assignment can’t come soon enough. I swear I’m done, Ces.”

“Going to retire to the beach with your handsome blonde?” Cesare teased. “I’ve never seen you like this. He must be something special.”

“He is. And I just might, if I can survive the next few months without any fuck ups. I’m not convinced I can fake normalcy well enough, though.” 

That was the fear that revisited her each time she thought about it - she lived her life paranoid, alone, and at war most of the time, with enough secrets to sink a person. She didn’t know how to be a regular human being anymore.

“I have faith in you, cara,” Cesare said, with more enthusiasm than Hermione could muster. “I’ll text you when I hear about the fourth. Ciao.”

* * *

Designing the poison was the easy part; it would kill in a matter of minutes through neurological damage. The next step would be the spell, then the antidote. Hermione looked forward to celebrating the end of phase one - and also forgetting that her job involved making chemical weapons meant to kill an entire crowd - for at least two days. 

_We’ll nail him before that happens_ , she reminded herself, wishing she felt more optimistic.

Cesare had texted her not long after their phone conversation. ‘He apologizes profusely, but the fourth is a bad time.’ 

Hermione rolled her eyes and shot back, ‘Tell him I know when the goddamn moon phases are.’

Cesare answered by forwarding Remus’s response: ‘Fine, you stubborn wench.’

Hermione suggested meeting at his house instead of a restaurant, given the timing. She’d received the contract earlier in the day, pleasantly surprised that he was thoughtful enough to include the amendments she insisted upon. He also added his stipulations about pain and humiliation. 

When she Apparated to his wraparound porch, she felt a flicker of anxiety - more to do with her own tangle of emotions than the fact that Remus would be transforming in a few hours. The house was secluded enough that she could get away with removing her glamor before she knocked.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, taking in his haggard features as he stepped back to allow her inside.

“Can’t,” he said with a tight half-smile.

Hermione frowned as she kicked her shoes off and dropped her bag by the door, pulling him into a gentle embrace. She hadn’t ever spent the transformation with him, but the side effects of Wolfsbane were well known.

“I take it it’s not any easier than it used to be, then?”

“I warned you not to come,” he reminded her, but the way he hugged her close told her she’d made the right decision. “I prefer to be alone.”

She knew that impulse well enough herself, but just as he wouldn’t have left her, she couldn’t leave him. She led him over to the couch. “Have you made any progress with the formula?”

“Not much - I have Severus’s notes but not his level of skill, unfortunately, and even he never managed huge leaps beyond the original.” He settled at one corner of the couch, wincing as if his muscles protested even the smallest motion.

She retrieved her Healing kit from her bag and grabbed his battered copy of _Walden_ from the bookcase, recalling his fondness for Thoreau from their lively debates at Order headquarters. As she took a seat next to him and dug through her kit, she asked, “Would you let me see the notes? On the potion.”

He nodded. “Sure. To be honest, I don’t know that much else can be done, though, Min - the aconite - “

“Is highly combustible and poisonous, yes, I know,” she finished. “I have some recent research I hope to put to good use.” _For something other than designing an antidote I wouldn’t need if it weren’t for an evil weapon I devised myself._

After she’d finished her training in Potions and Healing, she puzzled over the Wolfsbane from time to time when she got stuck on other problems. Maybe Snape’s years of research would give her more insight. She finally located the vial she was looking for, an amber glass one with a blue label. “Aha.”

She uncorked it and handed it to Remus, who sniffed it and shot her a curious glance. “It’s a little early in the relationship for you to go all Black Widow on me, isn’t it?” he said with a wan smile.

She cracked up laughing. “It’s a pain potion that targets neuromuscular function. You have an awful lot of jokes for someone who couldn’t hold his own in a pillow fight at the moment.” 

She’d created the potion to cope with the aftereffects of Cruciatus, but it also came in handy for head injuries and, she hoped, for the muscle cramps associated with the transformation. Aside from the cramps and nausea, the main issue was the need to dose each night the week leading to the full - breaking up the doses dragged out the exposure to the toxicity of the aconite. She’d either need to contain the aconite better or consolidate the dosage somehow.

But improving the Wolfsbane was future Hermione’s problem; present Hermione’s problem downed her potion and gave her an odd look.

“What?”

He caught hold of her braid and dragged her down to lie with her head in his lap. “I’ll get you back for that next time, little imp.” 

“I look forward to it, sir.” She did, but she also had the distinct suspicion the look had nothing to do with her smart ass comment. She snuggled into his lap and intertwined one hand with his, though, thumbing through to his most recently marked page in the book with the other.

"We can never have enough of Nature. We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander....”

* * *

Hermione still lay across his lap reading a couple of hours later; though the pain kept him awake, Remus realized he’d lost track of time when his hand clenched around hers.

“Stay here, Min.”

He had enough time to make it out onto his nest of blankets on the beach before the worst of the cramps set in - the ones directly preceding the change. 

In typical headstrong Hermione Granger fashion, she didn’t listen. He regretted caving to her insistence to visit on the full; he hated being seen like this, by anyone. Despite their protests, he’d always turned Sirius and Dora away.

“I thought I told you to stay inside. I guess obedience isn’t your strong suit.” It came out in a bitter growl; he wasn’t proud of taking his pain out on her.

She rolled her eyes. “It was a crap order, Remus. You can beat my ass later, but if you think I’d be anywhere else, you don’t know me.” She summoned her bag from inside, producing a few pillows and using a cushioning charm to pad the blankets.

His response was cut off by increasing pain as the transformation started. Her concoction helped, but nothing could entirely soften the brutal sensation of bones breaking and reforming themselves. He had the presence of mind to move further away before he lost all sense of himself; a small part of him always worried that the potion wouldn’t work, another reason he preferred to isolate.

When he came to, he was lying at the edge of the blanket, and the smell of his own sick assaulted his heightened senses. He lifted his head to see Hermione crouching next him and flinched away from her hand.

She took the rebuff in stride, cleansing both him and the blanket of his vomit before moving towards the center of the blankets. Propped on a few pillows, she tucked her legs beneath her and opened _Walden_ to where she’d left off, reading as if nothing had happened.

The Wolfsbane made him sick and exhausted during the change, and it seemed to get worse with age, but it allowed him to keep his senses well enough. It heightened certain things, like his sense of smell and taste, his emotions - and, right now, his discomfort and frustration. But after an hour and a half of her refusal to act as if anything was out of the ordinary, he relented and loped towards her.

Though he knew she registered his closeness, she let him take his own time instead of touching him. She said nothing as he laid his head in her lap, and he took care to avoid shredding her jeans with his claws. She just shifted to holding the book with one hand and running her fingers through his fur in slow, soothing strokes with the other. After awhile, he fell asleep, surrounded in the scent of oranges and the sea.

When he opened his eyes hours later, surprised to realize he’d slept without his usual restlessness, she lay on her side with her face buried in his fur. His slight movement woke her and she checked the time, glancing at the sky with a yawn. 

The change came on quickly - the return of the cramps was what woke him - and again he tried to move away.

“Don’t, Remus,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “Don’t hide from me, please.”

Her plaintive voice - and her sweet, constant presence in the night - were the only things that kept him there. The shift back to his human form went as painfully as the shift out of it, but also as quickly, though it always felt much longer than a few minutes. 

When he collapsed on the blanket, shaking, she lifted a vial to his lips and cast a warming charm over them both. It was another potion, a different one this time, and he took it without argument. 

She covered him, pulling him into her arms and rubbing his back. “Let’s stay out here a bit longer,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Too wiped out to argue - or move without the aid of levitation - he let her hold him until he lost consciousness again.

* * *

“Did you go shopping?” Remus asked as he padded into the kitchen and wound his arms around Hermione. It was evening; she’d levitated him to his room sometime after the sun rose and she was glad he’d gotten some decent sleep.

“Maybe. I hope it’s alright that I deposited you in your room - I didn’t want to invade your privacy, but I figured you’d be more comfortable there.”

“Of course it’s alright.” He dipped his head to kiss her shoulder, left bare by the floor-length knit dress she wore. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.” She turned to look up at him, smiling. “I hoped you’d feel well enough to eat.”

“I do, actually. I suspect I have your potions to thank for that.” He kissed her properly then, and she couldn’t suppress a shiver when his tongue curled around hers.

“Right, go sit before you distract me enough that I overcook your steak.” She laughed and motioned with a spatula.

As he did, she hummed under her breath, pulling a pan of roasted vegetables from the oven and turning the heat off on his steak. She recalled his taste for rare meat around the full - Bill had been the same when he was bitten. She plated the food and brought it to the table.

“It’s not much, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to tolerate anything heavy.”

He caught her wrist before she could sit down, brushing his lips along the inside. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered as he let her go.

She pressed another potion on him and they ate in companionable silence, except to discuss Teddy’s first few days of school. He’d been sorted into Hufflepuff, Tonks’s old House. Remus took losing his bet with Tonks with good-natured rivalry.

“I’m sorry I’m not up for much this weekend,” he said later, when she got up to clear the table.

“I don’t care. I’m the one imposing on you, remember? I just - " _Wanted to see you, to talk to you, to hold you and be held by you._ Hermione Granger did not ‘just’ want to spend a weekend cuddling, ever, goddammit. “I’m grateful you agreed to let me come,” she finished instead.

“Never thought I’d say this about company on the full, but me, too." He followed her into the kitchen and they quickly disposed of the dishwashing with magic. 

After, she texted Cesare and Remus grabbed a copy of some Muggle fantasy novel he’d been bugging her to read. She brought him chocolate and curled up at his feet, laying her head in his lap. Closing her eyes, she felt him unpin her hair and sink one hand into it. 

This time, he read to her. The book was interesting, if rather gory and bleak, but it was a nice change for ‘gory and bleak’ to be fiction instead of reality for once. She teased him about the choice, but she would have listened to him read a shopping list if it meant she got to spend time with him like this. She’d long since lost track of time when he finally set the book aside.

“Min?”

“Yes, sir?” she murmured, nuzzling her cheek against his thigh.

He smiled as he trailed his fingers along her jaw. “Tell me a secret?” He must have sensed her stiffen, because he added, “Not like that - just - tell me something I don’t know about you yet, something not off limits. Like, I don’t know, how many languages do you speak?”

The anxiety left her as she realized he wasn’t trying to push - as she sensed what, and why, he asked. _You’ve seen me, and even though I’m not allowed to see you, I want to see you._

Languages were a tricky subject, though. She settled on a reference to their conversation about his own studies. “More than three.”

“Figures. Properly cultured, then.”

“If you say so.” Her lips quirked. She wanted to give him more, though - the kind of secret that was worth what he gave her - and it took her a few minutes to settle on something and muster the courage to get it out. “Okay. Um, no one - who can remember it, at least - knows that I play the guitar.”

His hand stilled in her hair. “Really?”

“Well, you know now. Don’t tell anyone, I’d hate to have to cause you bodily harm.”

“Your secret’s safe.” He gave a rumbling laugh. “How come I never knew this?”

“My dad taught me when I was small. It was one of the few ways we could still connect after I came to Hogwarts.” She shrugged. “You know me, I hate attention, and it would have been one more thing to be teased about back then.”

“Do you sing as well? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you, except maybe lullabies for Teddy.”

“I did, once.”

“What would entice you enough to trade for a song?” Remus tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’d Transfigure a guitar, even - “

She shot him a look of pure horror. “God, no, instruments don’t hold up well against magic.”

“Learn something new every day. Just your voice would be lovely, then.”

“I knew I’d talk myself into a corner with this one.” She laughed, shaking her head, and held up a hand when he started to take it back at her hesitance. “No, there’s - there’s so much that I can’t give you. I want to give you this.” 

She rose from the floor to sit next to him on the couch, just far enough to leave room, and summoned her bag. When she retrieved her guitar from it, he raised an eyebrow.

“I see you still carry everything on your back.” 

“Something like that.”

She’d tuned the instrument the week before, when she picked up her pen for the first time since before the war, and the curve of it fit smoothly against her thigh. She strummed a few notes. “Any requests?”

He shook his head. “Anything you’d like.”

“If you make fun, I won’t forgive you.” Her tone was light, but she blushed under the intensity of his gaze.

“Never,” he murmured, reaching for her hand, his lips grazing her knuckles.

When he released her, she ran her fingertips along the frame of the guitar. A dozen safe choices ran through her mind, but none of them meant anything. She debated with herself a bit longer before settling on her decision, and began singing as soon as she strummed the first notes.

_When everything was broken_   
_The devil hit his second stride_   
_But you remember what I told you_   
_Someday I’ll need your spine to hide behind_   
_For fear of moments stolen_   
_I don’t want to say goodnight_   
_But I’ll still see you in the morning_   
_Still know your heart and still know both your eyes_

_And I could have told you ‘bout the long nights_   
_How no one loves the birds that don’t rise_   
_So you can tell the heroes, go hide_   
_My sense of wonder is just a little tired_

Her voice lifted, following the rising notes as she picked up the chorus.

_But if only you could see yourself in my eyes_   
_You’d see you shine, you shine_   
_I know you’d never leave me behind_   
_But I am lost this time_   
_Are we destined to burn or will we last the night?_   
_I will hold you ‘til I hold you right_   
_And if only you could see yourself in my eyes_   
_You’d see you shine, you shine_

_I was lost ‘til I found you_   
_Now these songs will hold and hide your name_   
_All it was was all about you_   
_Since that night the moon has never seemed the same_

She let the notes trail off as her voice faded and busied herself with propping the guitar against the couch.

“Did you write that?” When she finally had the courage to meet his eyes, Remus was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before.

“No,” she lied, trying to keep her promise not to Occlude.

“It was beautiful.” His voice held what she felt but couldn’t show. “You’ve been holding out on me, little one,” he added after a moment, the teasing comment an invitation to retreat to safer ground. She loved him for the kindness of giving her an out.

She climbed onto his lap, her knees hugging his hips as her dress ruched around her thighs. “Your turn,” she murmured, resting her forehead against his.

“Hmm?” He trailed his fingertips down her spine. “Oh. I have a secret in mind, but I’d prefer to show rather than tell.”

“I’ve enjoyed show and tell so far,” she said, leaning in to kiss him.

“Not that kind, dirty girl,” he chuckled. “I know we didn’t discuss it, but if you could stay until Monday morning - or perhaps next time - “

“I can stay.”

“Excellent.” He tugged her hair until her neck was bared to him and she whimpered as his tongue fluttered against her pulse. He was forever careful not to break skin this way, but he bit her even more gently than usual tonight. “Now, about show and tell - “

“Sir, we don’t have to - “

He put a finger to her lips and shifted until she felt his hardening cock through the cotton sleeping trousers he still wore. 

“I may be an old werewolf, but I still have a pulse, you little tease.”

His kiss swallowed her laughter, and then there was nothing but the sound of her moans and pleas for quite some time.


	6. Part Five

_I need some sweet to soothe my inside_  
_I need some soft to lay down my pride_  
_I need some tears to rain down on me and melt my memory_  
_I need to slide deliciously down to where I hurt the least_  
_I need high prayers to breathe through_  
_And I need to shine like I used to_  
_And I know that I’m not supposed to be for nothing_

Cree Summer, “Deliciously Down”

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Hermione appeared on the porch ten minutes after Remus woke her and forced some food in her, wearing jeans, boots, and a Radiohead t-shirt, hair still tousled from sleep.

“I thought wolves were supposed to be nocturnal.”

“It’s not even that early, woman,” he laughed, looking up from his safety check.

“I don’t care, that bed is too comfortable.” Her kittenish stretch bared a tantalizing glimpse of skin.

“Well, don’t tell anyone I’m a morning person, I have a reputation to protect, you know.”

He noticed when she was awake enough to realize his secret and the reason he’d asked her to meet him on the porch, because she said, “A reputation as a hot biker?” She looked him up and down. “Because, um, that’s holding up just fine right now. Christ, Remus. I think I ought to snap a photo in case I never get to see this again.”

Remus’s lips quirked. He grabbed his leather jacket and came over to her, covering her shoulders. She burrowed into it as she slid her arms in the sleeves.

“If you’re a very, _very_ good girl, maybe I’ll give a repeat performance,” he breathed against her ear.

“Mm.” She drew him into a deep kiss. “Yes, sir.”

The sensation of her tongue caressing his and the little noises that escaped her throat caused a not-unwelcome tightness in his groin, but he unwound her arms from his neck and broke the kiss before he could give into the urge to carry her back inside.

“As much as I like a good public show, we have plans,” he murmured, enjoying her blush as he held her close. At her raised eyebrow, he added, “Of the road trip variety.”

“Ah.” Her shoulders tensed.

“What is it?”

She met his eyes with a rueful smile. “I’ll need to alter my appearance. Is that alright?”

“Sure, if it makes you feel better.” Though he didn’t like it, and he still found it puzzling, he wouldn’t push the issue. He wondered how long it had been since someone had seen her true face, before him. It had to fuck with her head. 

“Thank you.” She tucked herself against him as she touched her nape and whispered the charm. Seconds later, she wore the face she had that first time they’d met - black hair and eyes, cheeks a little rounder than her natural features. He didn’t have to look to know her creamy skin would be unmarked now.

He took her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll want to put your hair up.”

She nodded as he stepped away, tucking her hair into a tight bun before following him over to the bike.

“I’m guessing you’ve never done this?” he asked. At the shake of her head, he nudged her to swing her leg over it and showed her where to place her feet. 

“It doesn’t fly, right?” She shot him a wry grin.

“Nope, you’re safe on that front. I believe Sirius’s is the only one of that persuasion, unless Arthur’s getting creative again.” After the war, Arthur had repaired the motorbike, and it now sat in the garage at Remus’s cottage back in Yorkshire. It belonged to Ron and Hermione - they’d inherited everything of Harry’s - but Ron insisted it was his.

His sleek black Ducati, on the other hand, was entirely Muggle, but riding was its own sort of magic. He mounted in front of her, enjoying the warmth at his back and the way her hands felt on his hips.

“Put your helmet on and hold on to me. Turns will feel scary at first, but lean with me anyway. If you need me to pull over, tap my shoulder twice. He twisted to glance at her as she snapped the visor shut, and at her nod he put his own helmet on.

Her hands slipped beneath his jacket to encircle his waist, her petite frame pressing up against him as her thighs squeezed his hips. His body protested the layers of cotton and denim and leather separating them, but those urges could wait. He cast a low-level shield charm that he could hold for the long ride; he’d never had an accident, but it made him feel better given the preciousness of his cargo.

After warming her up with a jaunt through the outskirts of Marseille, he opted for a winding series of back roads where the cars were fewer and he could get away with pouring on the speed. The extra time it added to the trip was more than worth it for the chance to feel her against him and hear her exhilarated laughter bubble up as she hugged him closer than necessary with each sharp turn. She seemed freer. He liked being able to give her something no one else had before.

A couple of hours later, they reached their destination, a scenic overlook far enough out of the way that it wasn’t a tourist trap.

“Where are we?” 

“Just outside of Nice.” He took her hand and led her down the winding path towards a waterfall. They spent a few hours hiking through the falls and the caves nearby before they rode into the city. 

The hotel he’d chosen was near the beach, less crowded with the end of the summer. As they checked in, it pleased him when she said no to his offer of separate rooms.

Remus let her ward the room when they got there, and counted it worthwhile for the flicker of relief on her face when she emerged from her glamor. It also gave him a chance to study her sophisticated spells; she wove them with an undetectable charm, which must have been a drain to hold, even after she tied it off. He hid his scrutiny by chasing her into the bath, undressing her and then himself.

He wasn’t alone in his inability to keep his hands off her. As they moved under the spray, Hermione tugged his hair free of its tie and ran her fingers through it, pulling him into a needy kiss. His refusal to let her come last night had left her in such a state that the smallest touch sparked flame. 

He denied her pleas but held her close as he washed her and then himself, needing the contact as much as she did. When they finished, he didn’t bother with clothes, carrying her to the bed. He fitted her back against his chest and enfolded her in his embrace, letting his worries fall away as she relaxed into sleep.

Hermione’s stirring woke Remus a few hours later. Turning toward him, she nuzzled her cheek to his shoulder.

He tipped her head up and brushed his lips against hers. “Hungry?”

“Mm,” she murmured. He shooed her to dress, and she disappeared into the bath with her bag.

He was slipping a charcoal blazer over his jeans and black button-down when she emerged, stealing his breath. A copper dress fell just above her knees, the top satin and lace and the bottom all tulle, divided by a band of gold ribbon around her ribcage. Her strappy heeled sandals lent a bit of height, and a lariat necklace weighted with an amber teardrop draped her neck and chest.

When she wrapped a shy arm around herself, tucking a curl behind her ear, Remus realized he’d been staring too long. The softer, feminine style suited her, but he got the sense it was a bit beyond her comfort zone. He raked a nervous hand through his loose hair and then reached for her.

“You’re lovely, did you know that?” he whispered as he pulled her close.

She gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “If you say so, sir.”

The dip of the bodice at her back left some of her skin bare to him, and he ran his fingers over her shoulder blades. He knew her like his own hand already - the watercolor art of her tattoos, the loose scattering of freckles, the arrangement of her scars that told him more than she would dare.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life making sure no one ever hurt her again. Teaching her to see what he saw.

“We should go if we’re going to make our reservation on time.” He gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Right,” she said, stepping away and activating her glamor as he tied back his hair. She took the arm he offered, looping hers loosely around his.

He took her to a Greek restaurant, nice but not too formal, with intimate tables scattered around an outdoor dance floor and a live band playing gentle music. As twilight fell, twinkling lights formed a canopy above them.

He didn’t miss how she glanced at the dance floor with longing, at least until the food came and the moussaka distracted her. After they split a light cake soaked in syrup, he stood up and offered her his hand.

“Wonders never cease,” she murmured as she followed him to the floor.

Sirius had insisted on teaching him and James to dance when they were kids because he claimed it would help them pick up chicks, and Remus took to it. It became clear rather quickly that ballroom was one of the few things not within Hermione’s exhaustive library of knowledge; she knew the basic steps well enough, but lacked confidence to go any further. Dragging her out of her head was his favorite activity, though, so he stuck with a waltz and anchored her with tender touches in between dips and twirls. Soon enough, she was flushed and laughing.

After a few songs, the music slowed, and she took the chance to draw close to him, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. He held her and traced the deceptively flawless expanse of her back. 

Eventually, they headed out into the night, and she pulled him in the opposite direction of the hotel.

“Where - “

“You’ll see,” she said, shooting him a secretive smile. At first he thought she was heading for the pier, but they ended up on a narrow street in a sketchier area, and she entered an unmarked door of a large building with blackened windows.

“What the hell, Min - “

The unmistakable reverberation of a hard bass line hit him as soon as they stepped through the door. He dragged his wallet from his pocket. The passport she flashed the bouncer had a bright red cover - not British or French, but she tucked it away so quick that he didn’t have time to see more.

She led him into a vast room that was nothing but dance floor, with a bar along one wall and a DJ blasting music in the corner. Fighting the urge to drag her out, he let her lead him to the bar instead. He ordered a beer, planning to stop at one, and coaxed her into getting a hard cider, arguing that the alcohol content was low enough there was no way she’d be impaired.

“This was the first club I ever snuck into,” she said with a wicked smile as she tipped the bottle to her lips. “I Transfigured a fake ID before I left school and took it on our family trip when I was 15. Well, 16, I guess, the Time Turner added a few months.”

“I’m trying to imagine Minerva’s reaction to her teacher’s pet doing such a thing. Or Harry and Ron’s, for that matter,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not sure we ought to take this particular trip down memory lane, though.”

“Hey, we tried your way. Turnabout’s only fair play, Remus.”

He glanced out at the crush of bodies on the dark and smoky floor, illuminated only by a disco ball and neon lights. They were overdressed. He felt every one of his 49 years; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in a nightclub.

“That’s not dancing, Min, that’s foreplay.”

She smirked at him. “Exactly.”

It took him a second to register that she’d walked away. _What the hell have you gotten yourself into, old man?_ Of course, he couldn’t let her disappear into the crowd, so he followed.

She pulled him to a spot near the far wall where there was enough room for them to move without being bothered too much, and, inches from him, closed her eyes and lost herself in the beat. Remus leaned against the wall, watching her, that sweet little dress she wore deliciously incongruous with the serpentine undulation of her hips. The sight made him hard as granite.

After a while, she opened her eyes and reached for his hand, turning and leaning back against his chest. “Close your eyes,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek for a moment and then trailing her fingertips down his arm before guiding his hands to curl around her hips. “Just move with me.”

That he could do, and in the dark, he forgot the glamor; he loved mapping every inch of her by touch. He dipped his head and nipped at her ear, savoring her little whimpers as his hands slid over her hips. “You’re playing with fire, little one.” As his breath touched her skin, she pressed closer to him with a sharp inhale.

She liked being threatened, liked the edge of danger he gave her sometimes, and she was still aching. She’d have a slick for him already, the little thrill-seeker.

The track changed to something slower, with a heady, deep rhythm that went straight to his cock. Or maybe it was just her, the scent of oranges finding him through the smoke as she ground her ass against him. 

Only then did she say, breathless, “Does that mean you want me to stop?”

He slid one hand from her hip to splay over her abdomen, surrounding her in his arms as his lips brushed her ear again. The little noises she made told him she was a bowstring about to snap. “It means you’re about to get a lesson in foreplay and you’d better pay attention.” He punctuated the statement with a bite to her neck and soothed it with his tongue.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “I mean, yes, sir.”

He was grateful the noise covered the sounds. He avoided anything too inappropriate, but his palms occasionally stroked her breasts, and even with his gentle caresses of her hips and the outside of her thighs, she became drunk on his touch. She still moved with the music, but she arched to his hands, seeking more. When his fingertips grazed her throat, she shuddered and reached back to clutch at his hip.

“Do you like that?” he murmured, amused by her quick nod. He knew the answer before he asked - he wasn’t too adventurous with breath play due to the inherent danger, but he enjoyed the way a possessive hand on her neck or a gentle squeeze seemed to do something primal to her. It certainly did to him. He gave it to her, wrapping his hand around her throat, letting her feel the weight of it.

She bit back a moan, flushed and panting. “Please, I need more - I need you so badly.”

“Mm. I know you do, and you’re so sweet when you beg.” She was lightning in his hands and it was hot as fuck. “Are you soaking your panties for me, little kitten?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she whimpered, pressing her thighs together. “I can’t help it.”

“Good.” Remus scraped his teeth against her earlobe and she tightened her hand on his hip in response. “Breathe, sweet girl. We’re going to find a spot to Apparate and then you’re going to show me just how much of a mess you’ve made.”

Thankfully, the exits were clearly marked, and the alley behind the club was empty enough that they could Apparate back to the hotel. He side-alonged her around the corner from the entrance, since her anti-Apparition wards prevented him from going straight to their room.

As soon as they were alone, she took down the glamor and accosted him in a flurry of limbs and hair, kissing him deeply. He acquiesced on his own terms, walking her back until he’d pinned her between his body and the wall, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and then fucking her mouth with his tongue while she writhed against him and fisted her hands in his shirt.

She tasted like cider and honey and heaven. He shrugged out of the blazer and stepped back, untangling himself from her grip as she protested the loss.

“Take them off and give them to me.” It wasn’t a request, and though he could see her deep blush in the glow of the bedside lamp and the moon, she complied instantly. Her embarrassment was always adorable, and it only made him more predatory.

She kicked her shoes aside as she divested herself and handed him the scrap of soaked black lace. He wanted to bury his face in them - or better yet, in her - but he had other plans at the moment. He grabbed her wrists in one hand, pinning them to the wall above her. Sometimes the height difference came in handy - he didn’t have to reach far. As he cupped her breast with his free hand and his thumb brushed the hard peak of her nipple through the fabric, she hissed with need.

“Is this what you think about when you touch yourself, kitten?” he whispered, his mouth finding her neck. He nudged her thighs apart and trailed his fingers up the inside until he felt her wetness. “Is this what you were thinking about earlier when you were making a mess?”

A cry of frustration escaped her as her hips bucked, but he pulled his hand away. “Fucking _hell_ ,” she breathed. “I don’t - um - touch myself.”

“Well, that explains why you’re always such a little powder keg,” he chuckled in surprise, teeth grazing her neck. “That’s going to change. I want you to make yourself come at least a few times a week from now on.”

“I can’t - “ She shook her head as he slipped his hand beneath her dress and stroked her side.

“You can and you will. We’re going to practice.” Loosening his grip on her wrists, he opened his mouth to say something else, but she whispered yellow, for ‘slow down’ - her safe words were standard, the Muggle stoplight system.

He knew it wasn’t a commentary on him; he wanted her to use them when she needed to, he wasn’t the kind of person who got offended or pissed off by it. But the way she went rigid against him still told him he’d fucked up somewhere, and until he knew where, he wasn't comfortable continuing. Was it by overstepping his authority outside their trysts? 

“What is it?” He released her, tipping her head up until she met his eyes.

She closed hers, but not before he saw the haunted look in them. “Don’t ask me to do that, please. Not when I’m not with you.”

“Okay. Of course.” He cupped her cheek, stroking with his thumb. “Will you tell me why? The truth. It’s not about the contract, is it?”

She breathed a shaky sigh. “Do we have to do this now?” 

That she was so reluctant to talk gave him pause, and he sat on the bed, pulling her onto his lap.

“I’m not blind, Min.” He carded a hand through her hair, wishing she would meet his eyes. “I can see how badly you’ve been hurt. We’re bound to trip each other’s triggers from time to time with the lives we’ve led and the kinds of play we do, and I can live with that risk, but I don’t like stumbling in the dark.”

“I know. I know I’m not being fair to you, and I’m sorry.” Self-recrimination colored her voice as she rested her forehead on his shoulder. 

“I’m not upset with you,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple. “I just wish you’d talk to me. You know there’s nothing you can say that would change how I see you, don’t you?”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“It’s the fucking truth, Min.” It came out a soft growl. “What have I done to earn your mistrust?”

When she finally looked at him, her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Christ.” She shook her head. “You’re not the problem here, don’t you get that? I’ve had this argument with myself a hundred times - I can’t give you what you want, what you deserve, Remus, not yet. It was selfish of me to start this.”

He searched her face for the answers she couldn’t say. He believed her that this wasn’t a commentary on him, either, but he still didn’t understand. 

“I just - when I’m not with you, I’m not safe enough to let go. It brings up too many awful memories, and I can’t be who I have to be.” She rested her forehead against his. “I know it’s a risk not discussing it, but I can’t. I’ll be free soon. God, I’m so fucking stupid, I should have waited.”

“Don’t say that. I’m glad you didn’t. And I knew what I signed up for - no expectations, remember?” The thought of her walking out of that restaurant and never telling him who she was made him tighten his arms around her. And hearing her admit a little of what her life was like made him want to never let go. “I want you. I don’t care what I have to do or how long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

“Let me be the judge of that, sweet girl. Do I need to remind you who’s in charge?” He gave her hair a gentle tug.

Her lips curved in a soft half-smile, some of the sadness leaving her voice. “No, sir, but I love it when you do.”

“I know.” He held her a while longer, then, gripping her hair tighter, he pulled her head back to bare her throat to him and ran his mouth down it. She shivered as she squeezed him with her thighs. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, master.” Her breath may have caught on the words, but it was his heart that stuttered.

He tugged her dress off and unclipped her bra as they kissed. Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, but he pulled her hands away before she got very far.

“Face the wall with your hands against it and spread your legs for me,” he instructed her. As she did, he stood behind her, stroking her hip with a gentle hand. “Are you alright touching yourself with me here, little one?”

“Yes, sir, but I like it better when you touch me.”

He laughed quietly, giving her pussy a slap, eliciting a moan. “I know. So shy for such a wanton little kitten, but that’s okay, you’re pretty when you blush.”

He didn’t have to look to know she was blushing now. He slid one leg between hers, his knee bent so his thigh pressed right up against her. She rocked herself on him, and he could feel her scorching heat through the worn denim.

“There you go, that’s better, isn’t it?” He brushed her hair forward over her shoulder so he could kiss the back of her neck. “Don’t worry, my precious girl. I won’t tell anyone how sweet you sound when you’re wetting my fingers and begging for my cock. You’re just for me.”

A little shudder rippled through her, her breath coming in soft gasps. He cupped one of her breasts, rolling the nipple between his fingers, and she exhaled an impressive litany of curses.

“Please, sir, may I come?” 

“Not yet,” he murmured. He could feel her struggle as she tried to still herself from seeking out the friction. She’d impressed him with her obedience the night before as she rode his cock and took him in her mouth without coming, but he wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out. “Tell me what’s on your mind that’s got you soaking my leg right now.”

“I can’t think,” she whimpered, letting out a frustrated sigh when he removed his leg. “Jesus fuck, Remus.”

“Good. You think too much. Just talk. Don’t hold yourself back from me.”

She pressed back against him and he covered her with his body to give her the contact she needed. “I - I wanted you to take off your belt.”

“Mm.” He dropped a kiss in her hair. “Yes, you like the threat of it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please, sir, I need you to hurt me.”

Remus looped an arm around her waist, holding her. “Not to appease your guilt, sweet girl. I won’t punish you when you’ve done nothing wrong.” 

Physical punishment didn’t sit well with him, not with someone who had the kind of profound need to please him that Hermione did. He enjoyed beating her for fun, for a mindfuck, because she wanted it - but not because he was upset with her, and not to reinforce her self-criticism.

She shook her head. “No, sir, I promise. I just - I want to feel - “ She broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Shh, you don’t have to say it, love. I’ll give you what you need.” He ran his fingers through her hair. It satisfied some deep craving for connection, for catharsis, he knew; giving that to her did the same for him, too. 

“Stay against the wall, just like that.” She shivered with the sound of the belt as he unbuckled it and removed it with a quick pull. He doubled it and trailed the supple leather up her thighs, pressing it against her pussy.

Her shudder at the contact was still working its way through her body when he withdrew the leather and struck her ass. She let out a breath as he ran his hand over the mark, caressing her. He kept doing that, giving her a sharp lick or two of the belt, stroking the welts he left behind and ghosting his fingertips along her slit. It didn’t take long until she was crying out with each blow and dripping down her thighs.

He tossed the belt aside and pressed his body flush against hers once more, letting his heat mingle with her own and the warmth of the endorphins flooding her bloodstream. He dragged his hand up one of her arms and brought her own down between her legs. She stiffened as she realized his intention, but he just covered her fingers with his and guided her to stroke her clit.

“Stay out of your head. Just listen to my voice, feel how hard you’ve made me. I know you’re aching for it, aren’t you?” At her nod he removed his own hand and wrapped his arm around her again. “You’ve been so good. I want to hear you come for me.”

She needed it so much that even with her reticence it took only a couple of minutes. The way she moaned his name threatened to undo him.

“That’s my good girl.” He took her other hand from the wall, and when she’d recovered enough to stand on her own, he turned her to face him and captured her mouth. His hands roamed her body until he coaxed forth more quiet, pleading whimpers.

Bracing himself above her, he lifted her leg, encouraging her to hook it around his hip. When she was open to him like that, he touched her himself, his fingers gliding through her soaked folds.

Breaking the kiss, he watched her head fall back against the wall, her gaze so intense it stole his breath. He gave her one finger and she gasped as her hips rocked to meet his hand. He stroked her slowly until she begged for more, sliding a second digit in and then a third. She trembled, clutching at his bicep, then wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. 

Her walls quivered erratically against his fingers, and he fucked her faster, rougher in response. “Let go,” he whispered, tapping her clit once. With the second brush of his thumb she shattered, clamping down on him like a vice, and he kept stroking her until she squirted over his fingers and down his wrist with a sharp cry.

As she stilled and he withdrew his hand, uncurling her leg from his waist, her knees gave out. He picked her up and laid her on the bed, dragging the throw from the end to wrap around her. Casting a few cleansing charms, he tossed his shirt aside before lying down, letting her curl up against him while she slowly came back to herself.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her lips brushing his jaw. She started to reach for his jeans but he caught her hand and laced their fingers together.

“I just want to hold you.” Silencing her soft protest with a finger against her lips, he said, “You’ve pleased me with your surrender, little one. More than you could know. I don’t need anything else.”

She searched his eyes for a moment before nodding and tucking her head against his chest. At least he could keep her safe until morning.


	7. Part Six

_She’s the darkest horse you’ll ever see_  
_She will break her back to hurt your knees_  
_She’s the darkest horse you’ll ever know_  
_Running even faster through the snow_

Rosie and Me, “Darkest Horse”

Sunday, September 20, 2009

When Hermione returned to the compound on Sunday, not even the summons to that evening’s fights could ruin her mood. 

On her third visit, Remus had surprised her by remembering her birthday - though technically her chronological one was a couple of months earlier, no one had marked the occasion of September 19th with her in a long time. He teased her about birthday spankings, then changed his mind and decided 30 orgasms would be a worthier challenge. With her protest that she didn’t need to have a coronary at such a tender age, she talked her way into a devil’s bargain of 30 edges instead, and he tormented her all weekend until she had several explosive orgasms that morning. They agreed that it ought to be a new tradition.

As she climbed the stairs, she schooled all emotion from her face, though the flicker of warmth still hid behind her ribs. She was nearing a breakthrough with the antidote formula, too. One step closer to freedom.

She and Santiago were two of the first to arrive, and she spotted his wife, Maria Elena, sitting in the women’s section. She Occluded her panic as she noticed Javi’s familiar lanky figure. When she took her seat not far from Santiago and the rest of Escalante’s men and their wives started to trickle in, she said casually, “I thought Javier was at Beauxbatons this year.” 

“He’s nearly a man. You and his mother coddle him too much. It’s time for him to find out what the real world is like.” Santiago was cold, unyielding. 

The two of them had a contentious relationship as the people closest to Escalante, though they worked well together when they had to and she’d more than earned his respect. For her part, Hermione tried to avoid provoking his ire unless he challenged her, but Javi was one subject she had trouble steering clear of. 

They’d have gotten him a tutor, but at home, he was defenseless against his father’s abuse and his mother’s disdain. She prayed to the God of her Anglican childhood that he was only here to observe, more out of wishful thinking than real belief.

To distract herself, she scanned the crowd as the last of the fighters and visitors trickled in. Escalante’s love for cage fighting had always struck her as odd; at first she thought it was a way of ridiculing Muggle customs, but she quickly came to recognize it as a brutal test. 

All purebloods grew up knowing how to duel, and with sufficient impetus most became good at it, but it was more difficult for them to prove their strength, skill, and masculinity through killing with their bare hands. Having the power to order them to hurt one another or kill innocents, watching them vie for his approval, that appealed to his narcissism.

As always, her gaze lingered longer on the visitors than everyone else as she wondered who wouldn’t survive the night. The thought used to make her sad, but these days it only made her weary. Her stomach dropped at the sight of a familiar sandy blonde head, though, and she gripped the edge of her chair until her knuckles turned white.

_No. Oh, God, please, no._

* * *

“You’re up, man.”

Remus turned around at Robbie’s words. He had been dragged all the way to Barcelona because his business partner wanted a chance to see one of the few other wizarding-only fighting establishments. He'd bonded with the Muggle Studies professor several years back over being the only Brits on faculty, and when they discovered their shared love for martial arts, Robbie talked him into opening their gym together. 

Before they got there, Remus had been excited about seeing a similar operation - and still on a high from his weekend with Hermione - but something felt off as soon as they walked through the door.

It was a pretty standard setup, but bigger and more luxurious than their little spot in Marseille, with expansive seating around the edges of the cage. Remus didn’t know the owner, some guy named Escalante, and he wasn’t sure how to pick him out. A burly man dressed in a suit had called the fights so far.

He and Robbie fought a couple of times to prove their mettle after Escalante’s guys came through their gym, but it hadn’t been this intimidating or this crowded. Here, they didn’t follow standard rules, and there was no interference from a ref, not even to call rounds. He saw money changing hands as Robbie got in on a bet.

“I hope you were right about this place,” he said _sotto voce_.

Robbie punched his shoulder, a grin breaking out on his angular face. Sometimes he had a little too much youthful enthusiasm. “Shit, you got this. You’re our best man. We’re about to clean house in here.”

Remus strapped on his gloves and stepped into the cage, wondering who he’d be facing. So far the fights were pretty evenly matched, and it seemed like the guys were regulars - they all knew each other. Some of them looked too put together to be in a place like this, though.

“Let’s see…who would be a good challenge?” Burly and Arrogant asked, stroking his chin. Remus cast a quick translation spell so he could follow the rapid-fire Spanish. “Leo, you haven’t stepped in the cage in awhile.”

He hadn’t paid much attention to the people milling around near the front of the room, but he saw a petite woman look up as if she only just noticed they were all there. She looked a little different now than either of the faces he knew, but he caught the familiar glimpse of a floral tattoo on her bare shoulder with shock. When she met his gaze, her own expression was completely placid.

_Circe, woman. What the hell are you mixed up in?_

“Santi, you know I don’t like hurting the newbies.” She crossed her arms with an air of boredom as she turned to the man. “If you really want me that badly, I’ll play with you. I _so_ enjoyed kicking your ass the last time.”

A few scattered laughs and jeers rang out at that. Santi shot her a menacing scowl.

“Now, now, pet,” another voice rang out as a willowy older man wove through the crowd to the front of the room. “You know how much I enjoy watching you toy with your food.”

Hermione smiled at him. “If you insist, boss.”

“We’ll make it a KO since you’re feeling so soft-hearted, my little lioness.”

Remus fisted his hands as the man - who he gathered to be Escalante - leaned in to whisper something to her, trailing his fingertips down her bare arm. She summoned a small bag from which she produced leather wraps, taking her time winding them around her hands and over her wrists. She wore only a tight black camisole and a pair of athletic trousers, which she Transfigured into fighting shorts.

“I don’t fight women,” he called from the cage. 

Hermione’s eyes flashed as she looked up. They’d dueled plenty of times during the war and after, just never with fists. She won only occasionally then, and despite her casual demeanor, he feared hurting her now; he didn’t know if he could bring himself to. She was about to say something when Escalante spoke up. 

“Léonie’s not a woman. She’s a weapon.”

The words - and the coldness with which he said them - sent a shudder through Remus. When she stepped into the cage, she met his eyes again and he felt the telltale trickle of Legilimency. He dropped the shields he held with his rudimentary skill in Occlumency, not sure what she was playing at.

He registered distantly that in his head, she wore her real face. He could feel mind-Hermione’s tightly controlled fear, and her urgency poured into him as she spoke. “Don’t go easy on me and don’t tap out. Make it look good, but when I get you down, fake the knockout if you can. And for fuck’s sake, Remus, this is not the time to be a hero.”

When the embrace of her thoughts left his, they were alone in the cage, him with his padded gloves and her with nothing but her wraps, which seemed wholly insufficient. They both put in mouth guards. Santi repeated the rules - what few there were - and then they began.

Hermione landed the first blow with palpable fury at his hesitation. He retaliated and the rhythm of the fight took over. It was like a dance, except unlike at his own gym, he had to worry about organ and groin strikes.

She could have fought dirtier. He appreciated that she didn’t, but it quickly became clear that she knew well enough how to beat someone to the point of serious injury or death.

When she put him off balance and grounded him with a complicated flurry of kicks, it surprised him. When she managed to keep him there, despite the way he tried to wrestle her away and roll on top of her, he felt a flicker of fear. She was stronger than she looked as she trapped his arms and knelt over his chest, driving a vicious elbow into his face, following it with her fist. 

_Fake the knockout if you can._ He was about to, but she struck his temple and everything went black.

* * *

Remus jerked awake, floating in the air, unsure of how much time had passed.

“Be still,” Hermione hissed. “I’ve got you. We’ll be in my office in a moment.”

He fought the urge to struggle, waiting until she’d levitated him to lie on a cot. Her office turned out to be a small infirmary attached to what looked like a potions lab. The doorway between them stood open.

He started to say something but she glared at him until his jaw snapped shut. He wasn’t sure of the score, and she was even more paranoid than usual. 

He felt the brush of her in his thoughts again when she met his gaze. “The walls have ears. When I’m done, go back out there and make yourself as inconspicuous as you can. He’s not above putting you in twice, and you won't make it out a second time. Whatever you do, don’t accept any invitations.”

He gave a slight nod, wincing as the headache took over. They usually fought to the point of submission at the gym; Remus had enough head injuries to last him a lifetime well before he and Robbie started working together. 

She set a few vials down next to him and he took them one by one, grateful when the pain started to recede immediately. Her intricate diagnostic spell hovered in the air above him while she cleansed the blood and healed the broken skin on his face and hands, then placed a hand on his abdomen.

“I injured your kidneys. The potions should help with that, but you may feel it for a few days,” she said, curt and emotionless. She was shielding more than was safe, he suspected. “Back in a moment.”

She walked into the lab and he heard faint noise. When she returned, she ran her hand across his abdomen again under the guise of checking her work, but instead she slid something into the pocket of his shorts. Then her hands tangled in his hair and her magic enveloped him. 

“You’re lucky I’ve gotten good at healing head injuries.”

It was a strangely intimate position, her hovering over him, her hands cradling his head. She stayed there for a quarter hour before the results of the diagnostic spell satisfied her. 

When she pulled back, she handed him a small jar of bruise salve and leaned against the other cot, putting up a diagnosis spell for herself and healing her own fractured ribs and split skin with efficient, practiced motions. She hadn’t shown the slightest hint of how much pain she must have felt.

Now, with his head clearer as he sat up, he took the brief chance to study her. She wore a glamor only slightly different from the one he’d seen before, but most of her marks were visible; her souvenirs from Dolohov and Bellatrix were gone, though. And he didn’t miss the ruined skin on her chest that disappeared beneath her camisole.

That bastard had _branded_ her. Like a fucking animal. And she’d hidden it from him.

The wolf within him threatened to snap, spurred by the wave of pure rage he felt. Only her earlier urgency and the bleak gaze she gave him now stopped him from losing it.

He lifted his shirt and spread some of the salve across his own ribs. He’d do the rest later. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “Down the hallway, up the stairs, first doorway.” She watched him walk away.

When he got back, Robbie bemoaned their luck. Hermione entered not long after, taking the seat next to Escalante, wearing tailored black dress robes that hugged her frame.

“At least I didn’t bet that much, but damn, bruv, who would have thought? You’re like twice her size.” Robbie shook his head. “I’d love to hit that. I bet she’s amazing in the sack.”

Remus nearly lashed out at him for the comment, trying to get a handle on the wave of possessiveness that crawled under his skin at those words, and at the way Hermione and Escalante whispered intimately as he kissed her on the cheek. 

He’d known from the beginning that he couldn’t sleep with her without getting emotionally entangled, but he thought he could compartmentalize it for as long as she needed him to. He hoped she’d come around sooner rather than later. But seeing her in the midst of all this made him ache even more to claim her as his. 

No wonder she craved the safety to let go with him, if she spent the rest of her time in this hellhole.

As the evening dragged on, he focused more on studying the room than on the fights themselves. There were few women among the spectators - they were all formally dressed, and he gathered they were wives of Escalante’s men.

Hermione was the only woman who fought, and she refused everyone else who tried to challenge her after her fight with him. She stayed by Escalante the whole night, except when she healed some of the fighters; a few took her assistance and others took a seat along the edge of the cage, handling their injuries themselves. Eventually a teenage boy got up from his seat next to one of the women and walked over to her. She wrapped an arm around him and kept him close to her side, shooting him a genuine smile as they talked.

Near midnight, Escalante called the first fight to the death.

Remus wanted to throw up as some of Hermione’s earlier panic started to sink in. She wore a shuttered, weary expression now, hugging the kid closer. Grateful for what little skill in shielding that he had, he did his best to shove the emotions down; next to him, Robbie looked horrified. He leaned over and hissed, “Act normal.”

The two men seemed evenly matched. After several minutes it became clear, though, that one had more of an appetite for brutality than the other. He won with a sickening series of head strikes. Escalante’s bloodthirst seemed momentarily satisfied; the lines of tension in Hermione’s shoulders eased when he called the end of the fighting, and she disappeared after.

They made their way out onto the street as soon as they could. The compound sat in a quiet wizarding neighborhood in the outskirts of Barcelona.

“Jesus.” Robbie ran a hand through his short black hair. He shared Hermione’s tendency to revert to his Muggle upbringing when he swore. “What the fuck?”

“Next time, do your goddamn research before dragging me along,” Remus growled.

“I’m sorry, man.”

He put a hand on Robbie’s arm. “It’s not your fault. I should have looked into things more deeply, too. Go home. Get some rest.”

“Yeah, you too. See you at work.” At Remus’s nod, Robbie Disapparated.

He walked a fair distance from the compound before pulling Hermione’s scrap of parchment from his pocket. It had simple directions; they led him to a deserted alley behind a dingy cafe about a mile away. She waited there, still in her dress robes.

“Apparating after a head injury isn’t the best idea, but gotta work with what we have,” she said, taking his hand and side-along Apparating him to another alley that opened onto a busy street.

“Where are we?”

“Downtown.” She led him to a tall building about halfway down the block, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. He followed her up the stairs into a small flat and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

The flat was poorly warded; she spent the first several minutes adding additional ones. He realized with surprise that they weren’t just to shut people out, but also to detect suspicious traces of magic within. When she was done, she leaned back against the door, glassy-eyed and trembling.

It was a kind of shock. He took hold of her before she could slide down to the floor, leading her over to the couch and hugging her tightly. “Shh. It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he murmured, stroking her hair. She was silent, still shaking, then her breath came in heaving sobs. It took several more minutes before she managed to collect herself, and when she did, she pushed him away.

“What the fuck, Remus? You promised me.” She went from shock to fury with the force of a storm. Though she still wore her glamor, she was all Hermione. “You _swore_ to me that you wouldn’t pry.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t, Min. I swear I didn’t.” Her glare told him she didn’t believe him. He scrubbed a tired hand over his face. “Look, I co-own a gym that caters to the magical community in France. We do some standard dueling as well, but there aren’t many wizarding spots that offer non-magical fighting. Escalante’s guys came through a few months ago and my friend thought it would be fun to check out the competition.”

She stared at him for a moment and then broke into hysterical laughter. “You stumbled into Rodrigo Escalante’s compound by _accident_?” She shook her head. “Jesus fucking Christ. I really do have the worst luck.”

Remus clenched his jaw. “What were you doing there?”

Hermione shot him a dark look. At the moment, he found it hard to care about the promises he’d made not to ask questions.

“Is it an Unspeakable thing?” The question startled her, so he added, “When you - disappeared - Ron practically beat it out of Kingsley that you weren’t working in International Magical Cooperation that year, but Kings swore you’d left the Ministry altogether. We searched for you for awhile.” For two long, miserable years, actually, before they gave up hope.

She gave another disbelieving laugh. “I don’t work for them anymore, no. Don’t blame Kingsley - the Department of Mysteries is semi-autonomous. He told you everything he knew.” She sighed. “I can’t tell you more than that, but I can tell you everything Escalante said is true. I’m his weapon. I heal for him and kill for him.” 

“Are you sleeping with him?” It came out before Remus could stop himself, and he regretted it the moment it did. She looked as if she’d been slapped. “I’m sorry. Don’t answer that.”

She fisted her hands in her lap. Her voice was cold. “Not if I can help it. He usually keeps to his whores for that. Sometimes he even fucks his wife.” 

Her hard, unflinching gaze told him she waited for him to pass judgment, to turn away. He was reminded of his promise not to, the one she’d scoffed at only a few weeks before. She looked the way she had when he lit into her about her parents so many years ago; resigned, as if he couldn’t hurl any vitriol at her that she hadn’t already directed toward herself a thousand times. 

He tried to compartmentalize his frustration so he could look at the facts - and what he knew about her. She might not be an Unspeakable anymore, but she had to be working for the Spanish Ministry, or someone else. She wouldn't be there without a good reason.

“You don’t have to go back there,” he said in a softer voice. He meant it; he didn’t care what it would take.

Hermione gave him a sad smile that made her look older than her years. “Yes. I do.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, you need to know that fights to the death are common, it’s why they recruit new blood like you and your friends. His men cut their teeth on you. They won’t keep you around for long and they won’t welcome you into their ranks. If you win too often, eventually they’ll match you against someone they know you can’t beat.”

“Like you.”

“Yes. Or Santiago. There are a few of us he only puts in when he doesn't plan on letting someone walk away from it.” She wrapped her arms around her waist in a forlorn gesture and he saw raw terror in her eyes. “He humored me tonight because he was in a good mood. Remus, he could have ordered me to kill you, and if one of us refused to fight, he’d have had both of us tortured and killed. I can’t - I can’t let that happen. You have to promise me you won’t go back there.”

“But you will,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

“Until I’ve done what I came here to do. Hopefully only a few more months.” She held his gaze. “I know you want to, but don’t dig. Don’t ask around. It’s too dangerous. If you won’t stay away to protect yourself, then do it to protect me. Please.”

It went counter to every instinct he had and the wolf in his skin howled against it. But he finally nodded. 

“Fine. To protect you. Until you’re done with whatever - this - is.”

“Thank you. I know what I’m asking. I’m sorry.” She let out a breath, her shoulders dropping.

He reached up to cup her cheek, grateful when she leaned into his touch rather than flinching away from it. “I trust you, Min. I trust whatever your reasons are. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“You should walk away from me,” she said in a broken whisper. “I can’t believe I put you in this situation. I’m not a good person, Remus.”

“Even if we had never met in that restaurant, I might have still walked in there tonight. You’re not to blame for any of this." He pulled her close, until her head was tucked against his shoulder and her hair tickled his chin.

“I don’t deserve that. But thank you.” She buried her face in his neck, sliding her arms around him. They stayed like that for awhile. Eventually she lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, even through the glamor, and he missed her real face. “I have to go back. I don’t come home anymore unless I have time off, and these days I spend most of that at your house. They’ll wonder where I am.”

“Alright.”

“Stay. I have to take most of the wards down - they’re a signal fire without the undetectable, and I can’t hold it right now. But you ought to get some sleep before you Apparate back to Marseille if you don’t want to splinch yourself.” She touched his cheek gently, leaning in to press her lips to his.

“If you insist. Do I still need to contact you through Cesare?”

She pulled back. “Mobile’s too dangerous, someone could search mine. Do you remember the cipher we used when we were hunting Horcruxes?”

“The one that took me a week to learn?” He chuckled. She’d come up with it - it was brilliant, none of the trio’s letters were ever cracked, but the Arithmancy gave him a headache. “Yeah, I can dig through my brain for it.”

“Ces or owl, then, I get plenty of coded mail. A note here or there won’t look too odd. Remus, I - “ She hesitated, squeezing his hand. “I’m grateful for you. Please take care of yourself.”

“You too, little one,” he murmured, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. Watching her get up, unwind all but the basic wards, and walk out was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

When she was gone, Remus took the chance to search her apartment, unsurprised when he found nothing - not so much as a single photograph or personal effect. Hermione’s life was a complete cipher. He’d stick to combing the newspapers for anything he could find on Escalante - at least if he wasn’t asking around, no one could get suspicious.

His promise not to pry pricked his conscience, but not nearly as much as letting her go did.


	8. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for references to torture and sexual violence.

_So just remember who you are  
_ _How you were never one for folding_  
 _How you never liked the corner_  
 _How the dark don't even know ya_

Dermot Kennedy, "The Corner"

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Cesare's Tuscan villa gleamed like a fortress in the early autumn sunlight. His slave, Jacob, met Hermione only moments after she Apparated to the gates and kissed her on both cheeks. She hadn't had the time to get to know him well, but she liked him and he was good for Cesare. They made small talk as they walked through the gardens to the massive house.

He left her in the informal sitting room with a cup of tea. She curled up on the big leather sofa, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

"You look like hell, cara," Cesare said by way of greeting when he entered soon after.

"Thanks, I think." She looked up, too desolate to banter with him.

He sat down next to her and pulled her into his embrace, legs and all. She laid her head on his shoulder, his portly 5'8" frame a shelter in a storm. Though they never dated, he had played so many roles in her life - mentor, protector, anchor. He was her only constant for years, and he earned her trust and deference a hundred times over.

When she finished crying herself out, he cleaned her up with a flick of his wand and poured her a glass of an amber liquid.

"Don't get mouthy, I still remember how to put you over my knee." That silenced her protests about the alcohol, but she cut her eyes at him as she tucked her legs beneath her and took a sip. Cognac, at least 15 Galleons a glass, knowing his tastes. "Tea's not strong enough for whatever's got you in this state."

"Can't argue with that." Her voice was thick with emotion as she cradled the tumbler in her hands. "He showed up at the job on Sunday night."

"Well, fuck."

"Yep," she agreed, taking another swallow of liquor. "I had to fight him. I'm lucky I wasn't ordered to kill him."

"I'll bust his balls. Apparently I didn't put the fear of God in him enough when we reviewed the terms." Cesare squeezed her hand. "I'm so sorry, Katie."

She shook her head. "No, that's the worst part - it was an accident. He thought he was walking into something else altogether. He had no idea I'd be there."

"Oh. I guess he can survive the night, then."

Hermione snorted. "Got Jacob carrying out hits for you now? You're going to corrupt that sweet boy."

"I don't have to live that way anymore," he shot back with a grin. "But I still know a thing or two, don't worry, cara. Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah, I tried to impress upon him how dangerous it is. He knows more than I'd like - he didn't push for me to tell him everything, but he asked if I was still an Unspeakable. They got that much out of the Ministry after I left." She sighed, finishing the glass and setting it aside. "And he learned enough about the mark to fuck up my day if he decides to play the white knight."

"Do you think he will?"

"No, but my judgment isn't the best when it comes to him, as you can see," she replied with a rueful smile.

"You're an excellent agent and the pressure you're under would break most people. Cut yourself some slack." He wrapped an arm around her and tugged her in against his side, and she let him. "You're happy. Maybe for the first time since I've known you. That's worth more than the job."

Hermione thought of Javi, and of the hundreds of people Escalante could kill. "It's worth more than being an agent, yeah, but this assignment is - it's big. And ugly."

"So? What's the prime directive?"

Her lips quirked. Cesare disdained Muggle pop culture, but the sci-fi term had long since bled into the lifestyle. "The slave's primary responsibility is to protect the master's property at all times, up to and including from the master." She wasn't sure why he'd brought it up, but she could still recite it in her sleep; 'you always have a choice' came a close second on his list.

He'd beaten his little maxims for power exchange into her head years ago, afraid her need to please meant someone who wasn't so scrupulous would take advantage. A few tried, but not for long.

"That, too, but I was referring to the other one."

"Oh." He'd beaten his work maxims into her too, with a battering ram against her Occlumency shields instead of a tawse. "Never let the mark or the job shake your calm."

"Good girl, on both counts. Just do what you came for and you'll be fine. And for fuck's sake, don't sacrifice your happiness for this bullshit." He rubbed her arm as she rested her head on his shoulder again. "There will always be evil in the world, Kate, you're not personally responsible for putting an end to all of it."

"At least this particular evil should be handled soon." She gave a broken laugh. "Of course, that presents other problems, like the fact that I have no fucking clue how to do anything else."

"You'll figure it out," he said with quiet certainty. "I always thought it was wrong that they pursued you so young - there's a reason they're not supposed to recruit under 25."

"I was used to being at war by then, it didn't faze me."

"They knew that and exploited it, cara. You know how angry that makes me." She did, but she didn't want to rehash that old conversation.

"I don't know how to be normal, Ces, I never have." She interlaced her fingers with his, grateful he always let her borrow his strength. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be. You came out alright somehow, so I have hope that I can, too, it's just - "

"Shh." He kissed her forehead. "You'll still be you, no matter what face or name you have, and it'll be enough. It's not a breeze at first, but it gets easier, and you've got a damn good reason, now. You're not alone."

No, she wasn't. That was the best part about it, and the most terrifying.

* * *

It took three weeks to finish the antidote, but Hermione was eager to get it over with and use it as leverage to fish for more information about the attack. She pushed her next meeting with Remus to late October, and Escalante demanded a demonstration that Monday.

He'd have her test her creations on people he wanted to punish or eliminate. This time he threw her into the mix to trial the antidote - a particularly twisted form of motivation.

She would have felt bad for the sap who played the control in their little experiment, except that Alain, one of the French followers, had been a main instigator in her torture early on. He only let up when she rose high enough to threaten him. She didn't celebrate his death, but she found it impossible to muster empathy, even knowing he left behind two young children. He'd come close to killing her plenty of times, and he got off on hurting her until she begged him to.

If Escalante was a narcissist and Santiago was a bully, Alain and a few others were sadistic psychopaths. They made excellent soldiers because they enjoyed their work so much.

They stood in a sub-basement cell, but today it would be their makeshift lab. Alain's resigned glare followed her as she took the vials from her pocket. She'd bound and gagged him herself, and magic-dampening cuffs kept him that way. She still stayed on the other side of the room.

She set diagnosis spells on both of them, altered to copy the results to her notebook. That was her standard practice when running trials, but it was even more necessary today given that she wasn't certain what state she'd end up in. Escalante expected her to wait a minute and a half before taking the antidote, plenty of time to cause damage, and he observed from the next room.

The close eye he kept on things made her more curious about the target - he had to be planning to take part. He never got his hands dirty, but he didn't care about anyone else's survival this much, not even his most valuable followers.

Delaying the inevitable wouldn't help matters. She opened the first vial and cast the spell with a flick of her hand; it drew the liquid out in an invisible mist. She set a Temporus to mark the seconds and waited.

At sixty seconds, fire shot through her nerves, her muscles contracting painfully; it felt a bit like Cruciatus. By the time she uncorked the antidote, an invisible knife had embedded itself in her lungs. She managed to swallow the potion, debating whether to take a second dose, but her Temporus spell flickered out and holding the diagnosis spells took all of her strength. As Alain inched close to death after five minutes, she dropped his. When someone finally opened the door, hers had gone out, too, and she struggled to think straight.

Luis carted her back to the infirmary, getting handsy on the way there. He must have thought she was completely out of it. Aside from Escalante himself, no one had dared to touch her in at least a couple of years, though several succeeded in their assaults before that. She got a wide berth now because of her proximity to power and her reputation for being fearless and brutal.

When he deposited her on a cot and tore her blouse, she used her last bit of strength to pull her knife from her boot and hold it to his ribs. "Wrong move," she spat.

"Shit, Leo." He stepped back and held up his hands. "I'm sorry."

 _Sorry I was conscious, sure._ "Get the fuck out before I change my mind about investigating whether you have a heart."

As soon as Luis left, she closed the door and stumbled to her desk, cleansing her body and clothes and swallowing another vial of the antidote. When her tremors let up, she sent her owl, Persephone, with an encrypted note to Cass to ask for details about possible targets. Then she locked the doors into the lab and the infirmary and let herself collapse.

* * *

For the first time, Hermione found herself wishing Remus wasn't so…Remus.

He had a sweet, caring style, though still plenty authoritative. Where some submissives might have found him soft or cloying, she loved it. She loved the praise and humiliation, the encouragement and affection he lavished on her. She loved that he knew how to keep her just on the edge of too much, that he didn't find her need for intensity or catharsis unattractive. She loved his possessiveness. When she could set aside her anxiety about her secrets, she even loved that he read her so well.

But at the moment, she could have used a detached sadist - not of Alain's caliber, but like any one of the men she'd endured heavy beatings from over the years, who did it because they wanted to and she consented and who didn't care whether she enjoyed it. Remus thrived on heightening her emotions, and she needed the numbness that came from real suffering.

Cesare would have done it if she asked - he knew what drove her to it - but he didn't like this side of her. That idea felt too much like cheating, anyway. She'd promised Remus nothing outside their contract, but in her heart she belonged to him alone.

She knew she fucked up by keeping their date when she sat across the dinner table from him on Friday night and couldn't make conversation. He accepted her silence - maybe writing it off to her anxiety over their last run-in - but when she knelt at his feet and asked him to hurt her more than he had before, he touched her shoulder.

She wondered if he realized how often he traced the marks. They weren't the consensual kind - those healed on their own, or were easy to heal with magic on the rare occasion of lasting damage. No, these were the kind that came from being beaten raw and left lying in your own blood until it was too late to heal properly. It ate at him, even more so with her unwillingness to talk about it.

She would - just to him - one day, maybe. When she could afford to fall apart.

"Why?"

She closed her eyes, feeling selfish and vulnerable. "It's been a hard week, and I - I need to not feel right now. Please, sir."

They'd had no contact but a few notes for the past month, and she wished she could give him the parts of her he wanted, but even the familiar comfort of his hand carding through her hair couldn't unravel the knot of misery she felt. She'd been sick from the poison until Thursday morning, and in the wake of Alain's death and Luis's aborted assault, her nightmares wouldn't leave her alone.

He kept up his gentle stroking for a while before he said, "Crawl to the playroom, strip, and kneel facing the cross."

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his thigh before she turned to do so.

When Remus followed, he didn't speak as he drew her to her feet and arranged her against the wood, cuffing her arms above her head. He gathered her hair in a loose bun at her nape.

"Do you have any requests?" he asked, fastening the leather collar around her neck.

"No canes."

"I know, kitten." His voice was soft as his fingertips grazed the place where one had broken over her back a few years ago, then drifted to trace a different pattern of scars. Hermione blinked back tears while he mapped the things she couldn't say with his hands. "How do you feel about the single tail?"

She'd never liked canes, even before the torture, and they made it on her hard limit list after. She still had a tenuous love affair with whips, though; sane tops didn't aim to whip someone in the way that created those scars. It wasn't a first date implement, but she trusted him.

"Yeah, that - that would be fine."

He slipped a length of silk over her eyes and knotted it, then dropped a kiss in her hair and stepped away. She heard the sound of moving furniture.

She barely had the chance to register his presence behind her again before the paddle came down. Hemp rope wove through the mahogany in a beautiful design, abrading her skin a little with each stroke. He hit her at a steady, predictable pace, but varied the intensity of the strikes from gentle, thudding blows to forceful ones that made her cry out. By the time he set it aside and caressed her, she'd lost track of time and tears ran down her face. Nothing existed outside of the field of fire over her ass and thighs, nothing but his touch.

The crack of the whip came almost as a relief after the paddling, the sound alone eliciting a wave of endorphins and a flood of wetness. Wielded well, it could inflict light to moderate amounts of pain without drawing blood, and Remus knew what he was doing. His artistry with the floggers he'd used on her birthday was nothing next to his finesse now.

He used the sound to coax whimpers and make her flinch in anticipation. In contrast, the strokes he gave her were tender and sensual, flickering across her back like little tongues of flame, flashing hot and fading quickly. When he hit the areas already aching from the paddle, she would cry out, but the tears that made their way down her cheeks now weren't from the pain.

He drew her from the dark with his gentleness and grounded her in her body until she couldn't stay numb, until she didn't need to, until the lash tethered her soul to him.

When he finished, he left a trail of soft kisses along her shoulder, his lips brushing a few of her old marks. "Do you want me inside of you, love?"

Not trusting her voice, she nodded, and realized he'd taken off his clothes when his body covered hers. He took her down from the cross and led her to the bed, bending her over it. She wanted to see him, but this position would be less painful than on her back, so she reached for his hand and clutched it instead.

He stroked her with his fingers before guiding himself inside, his movements slow and languid until she pleaded for more. The deep need he'd kindled left her clenching around him the moment he thrusted harder, and when he told her to let go, she shuddered and moaned his name. He followed her soon after, still holding her hand.

When he recovered, he laid her on the bed on her side and pulled her head into his lap, running his fingers through her curls with one hand while he applied a salve to the welts and bruises he'd left with the other.

"Feeling better?" Setting the jar aside, he brushed her hair back from her forehead so he could see her face.

"I should have known what you were up to when you asked about the whip," she said with a sheepish smile.

"Did I disappoint you, little one?" She felt his rumbling laugh down to her toes.

"No, sir. It was the opposite of what I thought I wanted, but exactly what I needed. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweet girl." He trailed his hand down her spine, where the magical salve had begun to ease the traces of their earlier activities. "Will you do something for me?"

"Of course."

"Let me stay with you and hold you tonight."

She nodded. She always wanted that; the nights they slept apart were her attempt to remind herself where they stood, to create distance, just for now. But she asked enough hard things of him that she couldn't refuse him this.

He laid down and she curled up against him, her head resting on his chest as the melody of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep.


	9. Part Eight

_Today, you looked older than me_  
_Hair in your face, it fills the space between your teeth_  
_And all of your falling, does it get exhausting?_  
_Have you gotten sleep?_  
_You said you were sorry that you hadn't called me in over a week_  
_And I said always, I'll wait for sharp glass when you break_  
_I'll be the light that you can't make_  
_I'll be your eyes, you be my face_  
_'Cause darling, I get scared for you and I'm not busy anyway_

Noah Kahan, "Anyway"

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Remus woke in the night to the sound of Hermione's sobs, and when he tried to pull her from her nightmare, she fought him, pleading in French for mercy and for death. It took several moments before she realized who he was. That rattled him enough to keep him up for a while, so he held her and stroked her hair while he watched her sleep, thinking back on the last few weeks.

He'd done as much digging as he could without approaching anyone and turned up nothing. The university kept archives of the major European wizarding publications, and there were several articles about Escalante's philanthropy, but little else. One had a press photo of him with a few others at a gala, and Remus spotted Hermione's glamored appearance; the article listed her full name as Léonie Morneau and mentioned she was a Healer. But a search of Spanish and French news only located obituaries for other members of the Morneau family. It was a cover - but for what, he still couldn't puzzle out.

Eventually he fell back to sleep, waking again when she stirred in the late morning light.

"Hi." She rested her hands on his chest and her chin on her hands as he opened his eyes.

"Morning, sweet girl." He tucked a curl behind her ear. "Sleep okay?" Her answering nod told him she didn't recall the nightmare. "Be still."

She raised a curious eyebrow. He stretched and then reached for the jar of salve, brushing her hair aside so he could cover the rest of the previous night's marks, mostly the deeper bruises from the paddle. He hadn't enjoyed that part of the evening, not because of a distaste for giving a good paddling but because her request had more to do with needing to bury something than with liking the pain.

A refusal wouldn't have helped, though, and the way she gave herself over to his whip more than made up for it. That, he looked forward to repeating.

"Thank you, sir." She brushed her lips to his when he finished.

"You're welcome. Let it set for a bit before you shower. Any breakfast requests?" At the shake of her head, he moved from beneath her, settling her on her stomach and dropping a kiss in her hair.

* * *

Breakfast ended up being Belgian waffles with fruit and bacon, and her for dessert. Once Hermione recovered from being edged to the point of incoherence with Remus's mouth, she let him distract her from the ache he kindled with a walk down the beach.

"I wish it was warm enough for a swim," she lamented as she paused to pick up a few shells on the way back. The coast was much warmer than Britain this time of year, but still cool enough to need a light cardigan.

"You just like taking any excuse to wrap yourself around me," he teased, ruffling her hair.

She leaned into him with a soft laugh. Their last swim had ended in skinny dipping and she had indeed clung to him as he'd driven into her, buoyed by the waves. "You forgot any excuse to feel your arms around me," she added.

He smiled at that, drawing her into his strong embrace and kissing her until she moaned into his mouth and pleaded for him to take her back inside.

"Not had enough torment yet, kitten?" he murmured, sliding his hand beneath her t-shirt and sweater to circle her nipple with his thumb. "Sure you can behave yourself?"

She shivered. "I'll try my best, sir."

When he followed her into the playroom, she was kneeling by the couch as he'd instructed, naked and hoping the location foretold good things. He didn't disappoint.

Dragging her head into his lap, he let her rub her cheek against him through his trousers as she mewled. She knew he liked her oral fixation, and she loved everything about worshiping his cock. Plus, unless he whispered that evil spell of his, she'd probably survive it without breaking any rules. Maybe.

"Eager little slut, aren't you?" He ran a tender hand through her curls. She leaned into the touch with a whimper, nuzzling his lap.

"Yes, sir."

"Go on, then. Show me how much you need it."

She quickly freed his cock from his khakis, pleased when he shifted so she could access his balls. He hardened as she pressed open-mouthed kisses along his shaft, tongue tracing patterns over the velvet warmth. She didn't miss his sharp inhale when she took his balls into her mouth in turn, suckling and laving them in gentle caresses. She kept at that for a while before trailing her tongue up the underside of him and sucking the head, meeting his gaze with adoration as he watched her with a burning intensity.

When she started to take him further into her mouth, he said, "Are you wetting your thighs for me?"

Her answering moan elicited his 'you're about to find out just how fucked you are' smile, a predatory gleam in his eye. Her anticipatory shiver came half from that and half from his hand tightening in her hair. Then he pulled her down onto him until the head of his cock hit her throat.

_Yep. Very, very fucked, figuratively and literally._

She couldn't help the pleading moans that hummed against him as he thrust into her mouth with languid strokes, nor her blush when he said, "Up on your knees, ass in the air, legs apart."

She complied, lashing her tongue against him as he fucked her face, a shudder rippling through her as the air hit her fevered core. He groaned, a deep rumble that made her belly clench.

"Even when you're trying to follow the rules, you can't help yourself, can you? Playing the innocent with that sweet blush, but I know better. You always crave my cock." God, the man could almost talk her to an orgasm without any stimulation - she wasn't sure how she ever thought she could survive this in one piece. "Go ahead, touch your pussy, I know how much you need to."

He gave her hair a sharp tug when she hesitated. "I wasn't asking, slut. I want to see you fuck yourself."

She was soaking when she sunk a finger inside of herself, then two. She tried to avoid brushing her clit with her palm, but it was a losing battle, with the way other things consumed her attention.

"Mm, I love watching you grind your hips against your hand and hearing how wet you are."

She felt vulnerable when he watched her like this, like the fear and exhilaration in the fall of a rollercoaster, and that was his favorite button to push. The intense face-fucking prevented her from even begging to be allowed to stop so she wouldn't come. Soon enough, it overtook her, her little cries muffled on his length.

When he pulled her off of him, she noted with satisfaction the way his cock twitched as she sucked in deep, shuddering breaths. The man had an inhuman level of self-control.

"You look so pretty, flushed and teary-eyed and breathless." He traced her mouth with his thumb. "But I know you've been bad, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, I wanted to be good, it's just - "

"Hush. Get on the bed and show me what you did."

This time, she obeyed instantly. She crawled there and followed his instructions, face down and ass up, arching her back and spreading her thighs to expose herself the way he liked best.

He undressed before he walked over, which surprised her; he often wouldn't. She loved seeing and feeling all of him, though she also loved the safety and vulnerability she felt in the power imbalance of being naked while he remained clothed.

As he ran his hands over her hips and ass, healed now with the aid of his salve, she wondered if he'd beat her again. She lost her train of thought when his hand trailed up the inside of her thigh and he slid two fingers inside of her.

"You've dripped halfway down your thighs, little kitten." He fucked her, unhurried, while she tried to keep herself from rocking against his hand. "So messy. Tell me, what do bad girls get?"

"Um, s - spankings, sir?" she whimpered into the pillow. He gave her another finger and she shuddered at the gentle stretch. "Holy fuck."

"Always so articulate," he chuckled, still thrusting at that maddeningly slow pace. "Excellent guess, but you've had enough of those for now. I have something else in mind." He withdrew his hand and whispered a cleansing charm over her, and then she felt a finger probing at her ass until she relaxed so he could slide inside, lubricated with her wetness.

"Oh, God." She pressed back to him, shivering while he stroked her.

"Have you been taken this way before?" He added another spell that ended up being for additional lubrication, giving her a second gentle finger.

She gave a helpless moan. "Yes, sir, but it's harder for me stop myself from coming." The stretch of his fingers had already lit a fire.

"That's alright, we've established that you lack the discipline to control yourself." His thrusts sped up a bit as she fisted her hands in the sheets, moving back against him in earnest now. "When you did this before, did you like it, dirty girl? You're certainly enjoying my hand."

"Sometimes, sir." The last syllable became a soft whine as he worked a third finger in. Not everyone was this patient, but she'd been with one or two who were.

He stroked her hip with his other hand. "You're going to enjoy it today, aren't you?"

"Y - yes, sir." She groaned softly as the additional digit made its way deeper inside.

"Good. You're going to tell me if you don't. Keep fucking my fingers, just like that, kitten. Think about how good it'll feel when I fill you with my cock."

She was flushed and panting, lightning racing through her nerves by the time he withdrew several minutes later and the bed dipped with his weight behind her. His cock brushed against her ass, one hand gripping her hip, and then he pressed into her.

"Just relax, my precious girl, I've got you." He murmured encouragement while he entered her, and she gave a strangled little cry as the head passed her sphincter. "Shh, there you go, you're doing so good."

She quivered as he gave her more, and he let her adjust each time he slid in further. The sensation always made her clit throb, and her breath came in soft pants again. When he encircled her hip with one arm and stroked her there, she shattered, crying out louder as the intense wave of pleasure ripped through her.

"That's my good girl." He bottomed out in her as she peaked, and the delicious stretch elicited a helpless moan. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "Please, please don't stop, I need you." A soft gasp escaped her as he pulled back just a bit and thrust in, and she exhaled a garbled litany of curses and prayers. He kept on like that, rocking into her slow and gentle, coaxing flames from the embers.

He stroked her clit more and she trembled, their noises of pleasure mingling as he said, "Just focus on my voice. I want you to come for me again. I know you crave it, don't you? It's sweet how you're always so eager and needy for me, my little kitten in heat. I barely have to touch you or say a word to get you begging. Mm, there's a good girl, I love how you tighten around me when you're close."

She screamed into the pillow when she came this time, her entire body shaking, and he followed her with a shout, buried inside of her as he held her against him.

When he withdrew and cleansed them both, he pulled her into his arms, stroking her cheek. "You amaze me, little one."

"That's my line, I think. I'm the one who just came so hard I practically saw stars, sir," she breathed with a soft laugh, nuzzling into his touch.

His answering chuckle reverberated through her and she snuggled closer into his embrace, content to stay there as long as she could.

* * *

Hermione had asked Remus to let her make dinner that night, but she slept so peacefully after their bout of activity that he didn't have the heart to wake her until after he cooked.

Now, she gazed down at him with that blissful expression she wore when she was drunk on rope. Her arms met at her back in a box tie, and he'd bound them to her ankles and hoisted her above the bed just enough to give him room to lie below her. Her hair spilled through his hands while he debated whether to tether it or get on with his plans to tease her instead. Then her urgent voice tore him from his thoughts.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Red."

"Pinched nerve?" With a flood of adrenaline, he grabbed the safety shears from the nightstand and started to sit up.

"No, Remus, stay there, you have to vanish the rope."

"Min, what - " Being unbound all at once from such a constricting position could cause problems, too.

"Now," she pleaded, and the fear in her eyes made him comply. He leaned up enough that she lay against his chest and caught her as she came down in a flurry of limbs and hair.

She rolled onto her back next to him, but she didn't stretch the way she normally did when coming out of a tie, taking anxious, gasping breaths. As soon as he sat up, her body contracted.

Remus had been through some pretty scary shit in his life, but watching Hermione have a grand mal seizure seconds after he'd had her restrained like that ranked near the top. Though he knew better than to try to control her movements, he felt helpless as he simply worked at keeping her from the edge of the bed. The minutes dragged out until her body went slack. She was still unconscious, but her breathing regulated.

He cast a diagnosis spell, but the results just showed generalized central nervous system damage, and he didn't know the targeted spells for it. His basic Healing skills were useful for injuries and physical trauma. He was debating whether to Apparate her to the wizarding hospital in Paris when she came to with a cough and rolled on her side.

"What happened?" she asked as she lifted her head.

"You had a seizure." His voice shook and it took him a moment to get out the words.

"Goddammit." She dropped back onto the bed with a sigh. "Can you - can you grab my kit? It's the gray case in my bag."

He summoned her bag, but before he dug for the kit, he said, "You ought to go to the hospital, Min."

She shook her head, a slight slur in her voice. "They won't know how to treat it. How long?"

"Three or four minutes, I think, but it felt like a fucking hour." He located the small case. "What am I looking for?"

"The blue label, the one I gave you on the full, and one with the cross on the black and gold label."

"What do you mean they won't know what to do?" He asked as he passed her the ones she requested. "It looked like Cruciatus after-effects when I ran a diagnosis."

She swallowed both as he uncorked them, then reached for the throw at the end of the bed. He tucked it around her.

"No, I haven't been under Cruciatus in some time."

That made him feel slightly better. "But you know what caused it?"

"Yes."

He passed a frustrated hand through his hair, sitting down hard on the bed next to her. The shock and her reticence tested his patience. "Care to share with the class?"

She met his eyes. When she spoke, the potions had begun to kick in - at least her voice was back to normal. "I'm sorry. I've topped before, not with suspension, but I know how scary it is when things like this happen."

"That's one word for it," he snapped.

She reached for his hand. "I had to poison myself to test an antidote earlier this week."

"And you didn't think I needed to _know_ that?" He pulled back from her with a growl. "Min, this could have gone seriously fucking sideways. If I'd tied your hair and I didn't get you down, you could have broken your neck. I could have killed you."

"I know I screwed up. Jesus, I'm so sorry," she entreated, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I haven't had any symptoms in three days, and no seizures. Diagnosis spells came up fine yesterday morning, but I shouldn't have relied on them, they're finicky with this sort of thing."

"No shit." He clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to get a handle on his fear and anger. "You couldn't test on a niffler?"

She gave a hoarse laugh. "I wish. I created both the poison and the antidote. My involvement in the trial was supposed to be motivating, if you get my drift."

"That's sick."

"Yes, it is." Her face showed none of the horror he felt, only the weariness and resignation she'd worn that night at the compound.

"How can you just accept that? How can you come here after something like that and act like nothing's happened?" He reached to brush the right side of her chest below her tattoo, where he knew the brand would be. "You hid this from me, too."

"I accept it because it comes with the territory of working for a twisted sociopath," she said with quiet detachment, and for a second the pain evoked by her candor almost made him wish she'd go back to softening the blow. "I don't talk to you about it because I need one place in my life where someone looks at me like a goddamn human being and not a weapon they can put to use. And you would have asked too many questions."

"Yeah, I fucking would have. I told you not to hide from me."

She closed her eyes tight a moment, then met his again. "I'll apologize for not giving you medical information I should have, but I can't apologize for that. I'd hide anything I had to, if it meant keeping you safe."

"I don't care, Min. I don't care what I promised you. I don't care what the dangers are. I can't just shut up and - and watch this."

"I'll go," she whispered, shocking him when she moved to sit up.

"Like hell." He held her arm, ignoring the glare she shot him. "You need to start talking. Stop worrying about my safety, because it's clear you don't give a shit about yours."

"Take your fucking hand off me," she said, dangerously cold.

"I'm sorry." He released her, holding his hands up, surprised when she didn't leave. She studied her lap, seeming to wrestle with something for several minutes, and when she spoke again, she'd softened.

"I'm under very specific orders from Cesare to, and I quote, 'not sacrifice my happiness for this bullshit.' He thinks a lot of you, you know." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she looked up, and she shook her head with a tired sigh. "I always thought it'd make it more difficult for you to let me leave, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe if you knew more of the story, you'd understand what's at stake."

Relief flooded him; he couldn’t bear the thought of her walking out. "You'll tell me? Just like that?"

"In the morning, I promise. I need at least eight hours of sleep for this conversation. And a bottle of whiskey, but since that's off the table, I'll settle for the sleep."

He brought a glass of water and extinguished the sconces, slipping under the covers next to her.

"Thank you." She drank a third of it and set the glass on the nightstand, watching him with a touch of wariness. "Aren't you pissed at me?"

"I also care about you, and you're not sleeping alone in case something happens." Remus reached for her hand and squeezed it. "I'll re-evaluate the pissed thing in the morning. I don't believe in going to bed angry."

"'Kay." She slid under the covers herself, rolling on her side to face him in the dark. "I'm really sorry for scaring you like that, Remus."

"I know you are, sweet girl." He reached to pull her near, relieved when she curled up against him with only a little hesitation. "And I shouldn't have grabbed you. I'm sorry for that."

She nuzzled her cheek against his chest, her hair tickling his skin. "I was bound to push your eternal patience to the breaking point someday. You'll understand in the morning, I hope."

He hugged her close and kissed her forehead. "I hope so, too."

* * *

Remus woke without Hermione in his arms. He was glad he'd insisted on staying; she didn't have another seizure, but her chilling nightmares roused him again, and she clung to him after.

As he walked through the empty house, he worried for a second that she'd left altogether, despite her promise. But he found her sitting on a blanket on the beach in the early light, already dressed and wrapped in his leather jacket. He brought her a cup of tea and sat next to her. She shot him a grateful smile, the sadness and guilt of the night before still pouring off of her, visible in the set of her shoulders.

She cradled the mug in her hands and took a sip before she spoke, watching the waves. "Knowing any of this puts you at risk of Obliviation. They'd throw me in prison and take your memories of me - everything from the first time you talked to Cesare. Are you willing to chance that?"

"Yes." The thought of losing her or forgetting the last few months made him sick, but he was in too deep to back out now.

"In for a knut, I guess." She gave a rueful laugh and wove powerful wards into the ones that surrounded the beach before she spoke again. "Have you ever heard of the International Wizarding Intelligence Bureau?"

Remus choked on his tea, coughing for several seconds. "I thought it was a myth," he supplied in a faint voice. There were whispers of a secret intelligence organization, more clandestine than the Unspeakables, but no one had ever proven it. Not for want of trying by conspiracy theorists, which was why he'd always considered it a crock.

"Oh, it is." Her lips quirked when she glanced at him, but her tone was dark. "The Supreme Mugwump denies its existence. Every employee is technically an Unspeakable on loan from their country's Ministry, and their Ministry disavows them. Regular Unspeakables can keep their old lives if they uphold the secrecy required of the job, but Bureau agents don't exist. As long as I work for them, _I_ don't exist."

"Fucking hell." He wished he'd thought to bring something stronger than tea for this conversation. "How did you get mixed up in this?"

"They recruited me that first year. My aptitude showed itself in my training, and they pursued me, despite their rules against recruiting young." She shrugged. "You know how I was back then. It was an escape route. And I gave Harry so much shit about his savior complex, but that was the same line they used to hook me.

"I gave up my identity as soon as I agreed - my co-workers only know Kate's name and face. I had three years of additional training, and I've had assignments all over the continent since. I came to Barcelona nearly four years ago."

She'd never recovered from Harry's death, or not being able to bring back her parents' memories. He hated himself for not intervening more then. "I'm sorry. I can't believe we let the grief drive you to - "

"Don't, Remus." She gave his hand a quick squeeze. "I'm a big girl. I volunteered. And I still don't know that I regret it. I make sure people like Escalante can't cause anymore suffering, and I'm the best at what I do. That means something to me."

"So you have no problem getting yourself killed?" He couldn't help the bitterness in his words. And despite her protests about volunteering, his rage flared at the people who'd taken advantage of her youth and vulnerability when she was traumatized from the war.

"I don't have a death wish, no, but if the job weren't dangerous, I wouldn't have been assigned. I'm careful. I don't usually make mistakes."

"You think this is a mistake?"

She leaned into him and nuzzled her cheek to his shoulder for a brief moment before righting herself. He let her, unsure what to do with the pain and frustration her words kindled.

"I love you. That's not a mistake."

When his eyes snapped to hers, she set her cup down and wrapped her arms around herself in a forlorn gesture. Her emotions were written on her face.

She took his silence in stride and continued. "When I walked out that first night and called Ces, I was wrestling with whether to stay. He told me to follow my heart as long as I could handle the consequences. I haven't had a human connection to anyone but him and maybe Ryan in a decade, and with you it's different. I was naïve about hard it would be to compartmentalize. And I had no idea it would mean facing you in the cage."

Her voice shook. "It was unforgivably selfish. I've put you at such risk, not to mention risking the work I put into taking down that asshole."

"Shh. It's my job to decide whether or not you're selfish. That's not your call to make anymore, remember? And I'm not going to remind you again that what happened at the compound wasn't your fault," Remus said with a stern edge as he tugged her back in against his side until she cuddled close, the sting of her earlier words forgotten. He owed Cesare Bianchi a box of cigars and an entire case of expensive liquor. "What's the deal with Escalante?"

"He's a pureblood supremacist. His soul's intact for now - in the technical sense, I suppose. He's smarter and more careful than Riddle, though, enough that he's flown under the radar for a decade. And he inspires just as much fanaticism."

"Merlin's balls."

"Yep." Hermione tucked her head against his shoulder. "Officially, he's an upstanding pillar of society. Purebloods are very insular down here, so unless you're a sympathizer, it's invisible - as you've seen, even if you walk into his place, you'd have to know the players to have any idea what's happening. The halfbloods and Muggleborns die quickest in the cage, or on suicide missions if they're stupid enough to try to gain his favor.

"He's gotten bolder with his attacks on Muggles, but if his men get caught, they'll kill themselves before they break under interrogation. The Spanish Ministry and the Confederation can't dig up anything that he can't buy his way out of. That's where I come in."

"They want you to gather info for them?" Remus stroked her side.

She snorted in amusement. "I wish that was all. I planned to be out in the first year or two - that's when most of this happened," she added with a vague gesture at her back that he took to mean the torture. "But the Bureau kept passing my tips to the Ministry, and Aurors could fuck up a free lunch, I swear. So I stayed and clawed my way to the top of his sick little hierarchy.

"It'd be easier just to kill him, but if we don't put the rest of them in prison, it starts over again with someone else. What he's planning now will go before the International Wizarding Court, though. We'll get him in the act and my testimony will put them all away for life."

He didn't fault her cold detachment the way he had the previous night. The thought of the danger that awaited made him hug her closer. "So what happens now?"

Hermione shifted to kneel between his legs, taking his hands in her own as she met his eyes. "Now, I go back and you don't try to contact me, no matter what you hear. My handler will watch too closely with what's going on. I'll come to you when it's over, by Christmas." At his pained look, she added, "I know, Remus. I know what I'm asking, I know it's unfair. But I can't do what I have to do to finish this unless I know you're safe."

The silence stretched out between them for a few moments before Remus nodded. "But I don't like it."

She slumped against him in relief, burying her face in his neck as his arms came around her of their own accord. She belonged there.

"I knew this would be my last assignment the first night I saw you." Her fierce, trembling voice was muffled against his skin. "And one day soon, if you'll have me, I'll be yours for more than just a weekend. I want that more than anything, and I'll fight to live for it."

His heart broke at the promise, at the sweetness of it, and he couldn't speak. After a while, she disentangled herself. "I should get back." She stood and unwove her additional wards, picking up her bag.

Remus followed her, catching her hand and tugging so she turned to meet his gaze. "Come home to me, little one."

As she offered him a watery smile, he saw the woman who loved to kneel at his feet, and her devotion stole his breath. "Is that an order, sir?"

"Yes." He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead the way he'd done so many times before. "I love you, too, Hermione." When he drew back, a few tears fell from her eyes, and he brushed them from her cheeks with a tender swipe of his thumbs. "Go. I'll be waiting."

She nodded, her hands twitching as if she wanted to reach for him, but she just touched the nape of her neck and her magic swirled around her until she became someone else. Then she walked away.


	10. Part Nine

_I will march down an empty street like a ship into the storm_   
_No surrender, no retreat, I will tear down every wall_   
_Just to keep you warm, just to bring you home_   
_I will burn this city down for a diamond in the dust_   
_I will keep you safe and sound when there’s no one left to trust_   
_Will you take my hand? We can make our stand_   
_If your world falls apart, I’d start a riot_   
_If night falls in your heart, I’d light the fire_   
_In the dark, when you sound the alarm, we’ll find each other’s arms_   
_For your love, all you are, I’d start a riot_

Banners, "Start a Riot"

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

“Winter Ball,” Hermione said, her voice low even with the security Cass put up when they met in the Muggle diner.

“He doesn’t go after wizarding targets.”

Hermione spent the last week poring over the list of events Cass produced, both Muggle and wizarding, that would draw crowds. It was far from complete, but the Ministry event had weighed on her mind, and that morning’s talk with Escalante cinched it.

“Most of his men - hell, most of the wizarding community in Spain, are devout Catholics. He’ll want to finish things by the time Advent begins and they hold the ball the Saturday before.” She ran a rough hand through her hair. “And he asked me to attend this morning - he rarely does. He wants to keep Santiago and me close that night.”

Cass planted her elbows on the table with a sigh. “This is going to be ugly. It’s a complete change to his M.O. and three quarters of the Ministry leadership will be there, not to mention everyone else. They’re planning for 750 people. Do you think he’s aiming for a takeover?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione sat back in her chair and drummed her fingers in thought. “He’s been content to stay in the shadows all this time, but if he pulls this off, it would not only terrorize the community and make his name known but also wipe out most of his opposition. I don’t see any other plausible reason.”

“The Ministry will want in since it’s on their turf,” the older woman warned.

Her hand came down on the wood, rattling the dishes. “Does management want this to fall through again? Do they want to get our team - and God knows who else - killed?”

“They need to smooth things over so we can continue to operate in country, Kate. It’s political, you know it always is.” At the very least, Cass was sympathetic to her frustration and as weary of the situation as she was after the past four years.

“No fucking Aurors, Cass.” Her voice was hard. “I lead, and aside from us, it’s Unspeakables only. They follow my orders. No one so much as breathes without my say so. Need-to-know - we don’t alert the attendees, even the higher-ups. Frantic civilians get in the way.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t make promises. I have to run it by them, but go ahead and work the strategy, we’ll refine it when we meet.”

Hermione finished off her coffee and pressed her fingers to her temple. “We cannot fuck up this time. This is it.”

“I know.” Cass touched her other hand. “We’ll get it done, Kate.”

* * *

Snape’s notes on options for containment runes made the difference for both the antidote and the Wolfsbane. (’Kevik’s or Dragor’s could probably handle it, but brewing with that much aconite is suicidal. If Albus wants a better formula so bad, he can blow up the bloody school himself.’ He underlined the word suicidal three times.)

After two weeks of work, she strengthened the antidote formula, thanks to the well-contained increase in belladonna. It only took a day to recover, and she didn’t have any seizures this time. She spent the next week applying the same principle to the Wolfsbane, careful to avoid mishaps, and she managed to strengthen it with an increase in aconite as well, allowing for fewer doses.

Regular training sessions with Javi broke up the predictable schedule of research and brewing; he asked her to work with him on fighting, and as she did, she found herself grateful that soon he’d no longer be at risk of having to use what she taught him.

Breaking into Remus’s office at the university in mid-November was easy. A sign on his door listed his hours, so she waited until he’d be in class. Though she knew he still carried his own scars from the war, he wasn’t paranoid enough to add extra security anymore, and she picked the lock the Muggle way to avoid the school’s wards picking up on her spells.

She pinned her note to the desk with two potions bottles. He found the color-coded system she used for secrecy’s sake perplexing, so she scrawled the purpose on each label for good measure.

Persephone hooted in annoyance when she drew the creature’s cage from her black silk bag. “I know, I know, you hate the bag, but you’ll like where you’re headed, Seph. He’ll take good care of you until I get back, okay?” Hermione stroked her ochre feathers through the bars, setting a package of her favorite owl treats nearby.

She took in the familiar sight of Remus’s handwriting as she trailed her fingers across a stack of parchment. His morning teacup still sat there, half-empty, and the sweater that hung over the back of his chair smelled woodsy, like his cigars. She was tempted to steal it, but she still had his black leather jacket folded in her bag. She unwound the red cashmere wrap she wore and laid it on top of the sweater, hoping it’d give him the same comfort.

When a droplet fell on the desk, she found she’d been crying, and she swiped at her eyes. “Right. Back to work.” She Disillusioned herself and closed the door behind her; it could only be locked from the hall with a key, so she hoped he wouldn’t mind.

She stood outside his window until she saw him enter, then Disapparated before she lost the strength to leave.

* * *

Remus thought the scent of Hermione he caught in the hallway was just his wishful thinking manifesting in his wolfish instincts until he got back to his office. He recognized her red owl from their few notes back and forth, although he didn’t know the creature’s name until he spotted the calligraphy on the front of her cage.

The warmth of her body still heated his leather chair, and he let the soft fabric of her shawl slip through his hands, holding it to his face for a moment and breathing in oranges and honey. The note she’d left on his desk was unsigned, but he’d know her small, neat handwriting anywhere. He traced the still-wet spots that smudged the ink as he read it, laughing through his own tears.

_Seph likes mice and spiders best. I may have promised her you’d keep her well-supplied in both as a bribe for the trip, but don’t let her push you around for treats. She’s high maintenance and nowhere near as obedient as I am. Sorry, I’ll make it up to you._

_3 tsp of the Wolfsbane for each of the two nights before, and up to 2 tsp of the pain potion every six hours as needed before or after. You’ll sleep like a log for the change, but the other side effects should be better. There’s enough for three months and recipes are on the bottom._

_That’s just me being my over-prepared self, so stop freaking out! I’ll be back in a month. Love you._

_P.S. You’re not getting your jacket back, it’s mine now. Not sorry this time._

* * *

Hermione tapped her fingers against her thigh as she made her way into the bowels of the Spanish Ministry. Every Department of Mysteries held a secure war room, and she’d seen the inside of several. She wore Kate’s face now, with a black knit blouse and close-fitting utility pants, her wand stashed in her wrist holster, a knife in her back sheath, with a second wand and knife tucked into her boot.

Cass thought she was being paranoid for not informing the Unspeakables of her disguise as Léonie Morneau, but there were plenty of sympathizers in the Ministry. She prayed none of them slipped through Cass’s vetting to make it into the room.

The handler met her at the door, and as Hermione glanced past her, she felt a flash of fury. “What part of ‘no fucking Aurors’ was difficult for you?”

“Merlin, Kate, take a breath.” Cass breathed a frustrated sigh. “They insisted. I’m sorry.”

“That asshole Sanchez almost got me killed four goddamn times. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a cat, Cass. I don’t have nine lives.”

Her contentious relationship with the Spanish Head Auror was old news. A significant part of her torture came about as hazing to prove she wasn’t a mole after he nearly ruined her cover.

“Look, they’re following your lead, alright? We’ll make it work.”

Hermione unclenched her jaw and pushed past Cass. “Fine.”

She took the front of the room and ran a holographic projection of the Ministry ballroom, detailing the placement of Escalante’s men. He planned to have eight men carry the chemical and release it staggered throughout the room, with the other twelve for backup, and her and Santiago at his side.

“Aurors keep to the outside perimeter and act as if you’re running normal security procedures for the ball. Unspeakables stay on the top Ministry officials, but in the background. Agents take down the men, priority on the poisoners, but it goes without saying that we need to get all of them or it’ll get bloody quick. Everyone carries multiple vials of antidote.”

“They’ll be carrying fakes, though. Why do we even need the antidote?”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose as she glanced at Sanchez. “Thanks _ever_ so much for your input, Marco.

“Escalante has the formula. Even if his paranoia doesn’t stretch to having them carry backup vials made by someone else - which we should all be praying for - every single man carries multiple wands and knows how to kill efficiently with his bare hands. The challenge here will not be avoiding the chemical attack, it’ll be taking them down without a firefight in the middle of 750 civilians. It would be a fucking massacre. I want it quick and quiet, no mistakes, no holes for him to exploit. I want all of us - and the guests - to go home in one piece.”

“Who’s on Escalante and his top guy?” the Head Unspeakable, Rory Morales, piped up. In contrast to Sanchez, he was a consummate professional; it was a relief he’d be heading up the protection detail.

“Kate’s got that,” Cass replied.

“Alone?”

Hermione perched on the edge of the table near the projection. “Rory, who are your top people for hand-to-hand?”

“I’ve got a few names. I’m not too shabby myself, at the risk of sounding conceited,” he added with a rueful grin. She appreciated his warmth and steady hand; with thirty years in the business, spotting his familiar chiseled features and bald head in a room always made her feel a little better about whatever hell they’d be going into together.

“It’s okay, we know your ego can barely fit through the door,” his young second, Maria Inés, smirked. A bout of good-natured laughter lightened the mood.

She shot Maria Inés a genuine smile and gave Rory the once-over. “Have your fighters back up our agents, we can use the extra help on the take down. I should be able to get Santiago and Rodrigo but I’d appreciate having you at my back, if you’re willing.”

“Anytime you need me.”

“Thanks, Ror.” Hermione stood again. “Alright, Cass will get everyone dossiers on the targets. No parchment leaves this room. The men are priority, but we’ll be taking their wives and kids into custody. They’ll leave the kids and some of the women back at the compound. Agents on me for cleanup after. Questions?”

When the meeting adjourned, she tried not to nurse the flicker of hope behind her ribs. It could be lethal to go into a mission wearing rose-colored glasses. But even Cass looked optimistic for once.

* * *

The night of the 28th, Hermione entered the ball at Escalante’s side. His wife Juanita stayed home; people would assume she was his mistress, not his guard, but she didn’t care.

In her own skin baring her marks left her self-conscious and raw, but as Léonie, she carried herself with a regal air in the strapless black velvet gown. She cut a striking figure, petite and muscular, covered in ink that ran over her shoulders and back and down to one wrist, her arrangement of scars scattering over much of her body. She was used to drawing eyes in a crowd, but the attention didn’t bother her when it was for her cover; sometimes she could use it to her advantage.

Disguised as a hair stick, her second wand suspended her silky black chignon, and she wore her knives in sheathes just above the slit of the dress that ran from her thigh. They had outfitted everyone with an enchanted chip that hid behind the ear and allowed them to share communications. Cass ran point, since Hermione couldn’t speak her orders, but stayed within eyesight in her black servant’s livery.

“Dance with me, pet,” Escalante murmured, his breath grazing her neck.

She suppressed a shiver of revulsion and took his hand as he swept her onto the floor. She never excelled at dance, though she’d had fun being schooled by Remus, but Escalante stuck to bolero and she’d learned the steps early on. It helped that he was mediocre himself. The dance moved at a slow enough pace that she could keep an eye on the room; when the music wound down, his men stationed themselves in the corners, with a few staggered in the crowd.

She made her excuses to leave the floor for a rest, but stayed near him. Santiago stood a few feet away and Rory hovered on the perimeter. She felt a wave of relief that her hand gesture registered when Cass’s voice came through the chip. Then everything happened at once.

Hermione planned to nail Santiago first, but the moment she disarmed the burly lieutenant’s first wand, Escalante rounded on her and she ducked his blows, gagging him and imprisoning him in a wandless Incarcerous. By the time his knees hit the floor, Santiago held a young woman hostage, his second wand at her throat and his knife at her ribs.

“I should have known, you two-faced bitch.”

The girl couldn’t have been older than 19 and her eyes were wide and frightened. Hermione had to put that out of her mind. Rory inched closer to Santiago but she appreciated that he stayed back and waited for her signal. The crush of civilian panic and the movements of the other agents in the area disappeared as she affected her usual calm.

“Would you rather leave breathing or in a body bag, Santi? It makes no difference to me.” The girl gave a sharp cry as his wand pressed into her skin.

His answering snarl told her she’d provoked him; his temper kept him distracted. It was how she took him down in the cage. In a split second, she summoned both knives, planting one in his wand arm and the other in the opposite shoulder. He staggered back, not releasing the girl at first, but thrown off-kilter enough that Rory could take him down. The girl fled with a panicked scream.

As both men knelt on the ground bound and gagged with spells, she stood guard with Rory until the Unspeakables brought magic-dampening cuffs. In the meantime, she healed the holes she’d put in Santiago. It really didn’t matter to her, but he was more valuable in one piece.

He wouldn’t talk, but management insisted on proper interrogation, and the Hole, the black site in the Swiss Alps where he was headed, was awful enough that some broke just from solitary. That wasn’t her problem anymore, though.

“We done here?” she asked as Cass came over.

“They got everyone. We lost a couple of guys and there are a few injured civvies, but he didn’t bring backup vials, so at least we don’t have that to contend with.” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. They’d have time to mourn losses later; it always tore at her that no one would know about their sacrifice. “Let’s handle cleanup, then back to the house for debrief, yeah?”

She nodded. “The house” was the name for Bureau headquarters in Lucerne, but first they needed wrap the rest of it up.

Agents, Unspeakables, and Aurors swarmed the compound when they arrived, under cover of a powerful ward to mask their activities to the neighborhood. As they marched the women and children out in magic-dampening cuffs, Hermione’s heart broke when she spotted Javier.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” he spat, his face a twisted grimace of fury. Maria Elena regarded her with quiet resignation.

Hermione didn’t bother with a response, blinking back tears as she shoved her Occlumency walls in place. When he was gone, she leaned over to Cass. “What will happen to them?”

“The men and some of the wives will go to the Hole - you know Maria Elena was just as culpable, she’s on that list for sure.” Cass crossed her arms with a tired sigh. “For the ones who aren’t, they and the kids will be offered assistance with relocation. We’ll attempt to place orphans like Javier with extended family, but if not, they’ll end up in Ministry custody.”

“He’s got an aunt in Valladolid who isn’t involved in this mess.”

“I’ll try, Kate. You know how it goes.”

She did. The worst part of ending an assignment was letting go of the outcome. Aside from her role in the trial, everything else that happened now would be out of her hands; giving up control after being the one calling the shots for four years was as guilt-inducing as it was freeing.

Once the compound was empty, everyone cleared out. “I didn’t bring Logistics because I figured you’d want to do the honors,” Cass offered.

“Thanks,” Hermione replied dryly. “I’ve got it, you can pack up.”

“Alright. 40 minutes on the Portkey. They want you straight back at the house. I’ll handle your apartment and any other loose ends.”

She rolled the Portkey - a silver owl figurine - in her hands as she prepared for what she had to do next. Barcelona to Lucerne took two Apparition jumps, and she wouldn’t have the energy for it after this. Once she was alone, she Disillusioned herself as the ward came down, baring the empty compound to the eyes of neighbors.

Then she set it on fire.

* * *

MAGIA HOY

Fire in Quiet Suburb Sparks Speculation

By Alphonso Acosta

BARCELONA — The home of noted philanthropist Rodrigo Escalante is in ashes this morning, the result of a controlled Fiendfyre curse. The caster left no magical signature behind, but protected the surrounding neighborhood from damage. Aurors are at a loss for leads as the flames destroyed any evidence that might have been recovered from the rubble.

Coming on the heels of last night’s excitement at the Ministry's annual Winter Ball, where several pillars of the community with ties to Escalante were taken into custody and are now being held at an undisclosed location, the damage raises questions. Why are prominent pureblood families being targeted? What aren’t we being told?

Head Auror Marco Sanchez made a public statement today that the disappearance of several other men, women, and children are linked to the fire, but no remains could be recovered from the ashes.

The staff of Magia Hoy send condolences to their families, and will continue to provide updates throughout the week.


	11. Part Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! Hope you enjoy the last chapter. Not to worry, there's some fluffy/smutty epilogue action coming soon.

_No matter what, no matter what, I’m yours_  
_Lows and the highs, highs and the lows for sure_  
_If you go to war, I go to war for you, for you_  
_We’ll be the last ones dancing when the lights go out_  
_When there’s no one to hold you, I will still hold you down_  
_We’ll be the last ones dancing in the faceless crowd_  
_When there’s no one to hold you, I will still hold you down_  
_I will still hold you down_

X Ambassadors, “HOLD YOU DOWN”

Friday, December 11, 2009

"I always figured you for a lifer."

Hermione glanced up from her perch on the bed as Cass entered the barren little room that had felt like her cell for the past two weeks. "Me, too, actually."

"You know they'd give you any position you want - you don't have to stay in the field. Logistics would kill for your skills. And you'd make a great handler."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, really, but I'm set. Please tell me it's done." The debrief and trial dragged out for what felt like forever; though hearings were secret and she'd given written statements, she still had to testify before the IWC multiple times.

Cass leaned against the desk. "Verdicts came down this morning. They're going to Zug once management finishes trying to wring whatever they can out of them. A few of the wives will have the possibility of parole, but not for decades."

"Thank God." They kept detainees for interrogation in the Hole, but Zug was the site of the Bureau's secret prison. No one had ever managed a break. "I'm not supposed to ask, but - "

"Javier's in Valladolid." Hermione's shoulders dropped an inch at Cass's knowing smile. "We were able to put the rest of the kids with family, too. You ready to go? I know it's not standard, but I asked to handle your process out."

"Yeah." Hermione followed her down the narrow stairwell to a small, windowless room on the first floor. She reached in the hidden pouch of her bag, pulling out her Swiss and French identity documents and passing them over with her phone.

It only took a few minutes for Cass to wipe her phone's memory and remove the sim card. She gave the device back, along with her original British passport, birth certificate, and the Gringotts key that granted her access to the accounts under her real name.

"I had your funds transferred for you," she said, handing over twin rolls of vellum as well. Her expression was even as always, revealing no sign of her thoughts on learning Hermione's identity.

"Thanks," Hermione murmured, eyes widening as she scanned the parchment. The account statement was familiar enough, but the other.... She looked up. "You didn't have to do this." It was an endorsement by the Swiss Ministry of Magic, granting her a triple mastery in Potions, Healing, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Yes, well, you've more than earned it, but keep it between us. Can't have anyone thinking I've lost my edge, remember?"

She snorted. "Not bloody likely."

She turned and lifted her hair out of the way, breathing in sharply as Cass made a shallow cut. When the silver left her body, so did the glamor; by the time the handler murmured a quick Episkey, she wore her real face, and the enchantments that masked her magical signature and hid her from location spells would have dissipated as well.

"Take care of yourself."

"You, too." She pulled the older woman into a tight hug.

The first thing she did after emerging into the early afternoon sunlight was buy a new sim card, and the second thing was call Cesare. She sat on a park bench, feeling exposed in her own skin and tapping her foot with mild impatience.

"Tell your man to stop blowing up my phone," he said by way of answer.

"Hi to you, too. I was worried you wouldn't pick up an unknown number."

"I always know when it's you, cara," he teased. "Anyway, he's convinced you got caught up in that mess in Spain, and they reported almost everyone dead. I assured him it was likely a cover and if there was Fiendfyre involved, you'd have been the caster, you little closet arsonist. But I don't think he believed me."

"Right on all counts, but the trial was a bitch. I thought I'd never get out of the house."

"So does that mean you're a free woman now?"

"Well, not if Remus'll have me." As he cackled with laughter, she added, "I was planning to head over anyway, but - Ces? Am I meant to feel as if all my nerves are on the outside of my body?"

"You get used to it after a while. Crazy that normal people just walk around looking like themselves all the time."

"Fucking bizarre," she agreed. When he'd left the Bureau eight years ago, it took her awhile to adjust to his real face and name, and she supposed now he would have to learn hers. "I'll see you soon?"

"You will. Love you, cara."

"Love you, too." She ended the call and was about to stand and find a place to Apparate when his text message chimed.

'What name do I add you under?'

Wishing she could see the look on his face, she tapped back, 'Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you.'

He answered with three shocked emojis, followed by, 'Does this mean I get to cross 'flogging an Order of Merlin recipient' off my bucket list?!'

* * *

Remus made it through the last final he had to give, wrapped up his research for the break, and found his way to the Apparition point. He'd barely slept in days, even with Cesare's reassurance. A part of him still couldn't shake the fear that something had happened to her, especially after going to Barcelona and witnessing the gutted compound firsthand. Apparating in a state of distracted exhaustion wasn't the best idea, but the university's Floo hub was halfway across campus.

A slight squeak of surprise greeted him as he arrived on his porch, splinch-free, and he turned to see Hermione sitting on the steps.

"Hi," she whispered, tired and drawn. Still the most beautiful sight he could imagine, though.

Speechless, he drew her up, his hands shaking as he unlocked the door. She dropped her bag next to his briefcase just inside, reaching for him.

The soft, tentative kiss deepened as he pushed his jacket from her shoulders, walking her back against the far wall. He picked her up and pinned her there once she kicked off her boots, letting her wind her legs around him while she moaned against his lips. In between frantic kisses, he tugged her long-sleeved black blouse over her head and discarded her bra.

"I need you, please, Remus." Her head dropped to the wall, her lips swollen and her breath coming in gasps as she tangled a hand in his hair. He trailed his mouth along her throat, feeling her heat against his rock-hard length through the layers of fabric separating them.

Somehow, they made it to his room, and he divested her of the rest of her clothing, running his hands over her silky skin to remind himself that she was really there, whole, his. She dragged his shirt over his head, rolling on top of him and nipping at his neck as she freed him from his trousers and sunk down in a smooth motion.

"Ride my cock, just like that," he murmured once he'd found his voice, savoring the pleading sounds that worked their way from her throat while she moved sinuously above him. He leaned up to take one of her nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth as she hissed with need. As he captured its twin, he forced her down onto him roughly, until her moans became soft cries. "Come with me, Hermione."

After, she buried her face in his neck, seeming to need the contact more than she needed air. He was glad to give it to her. The only indication when the tears came was the slight, fragile shudder of her shoulders, but he held her closer and rubbed gentle circles over her back, pressing his lips to her temple.

"You're safe now, precious girl. I've got you."

* * *

"Fiendfyre, woman? Seriously?"

Remus couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. Hermione grinned, nuzzling her cheek against his thigh and capturing the hand that wasn't buried in her hair to interlace her fingers with his. They'd woken sometime after dark and eaten, and now he sat against the headboard while she lay in his lap.

"All third-year trainees have to attempt controlling it. I was the only one my year to succeed. I cleared the building first, don't worry. Shame I never picked it up sooner, could have used it when we were hunting Horcruxes."

He shook his head. "Well, at least it was just the building. What happened to everyone?"

She told him about the take down and the secret trial, and when she was done talking about that, she told him about Javi.

Over the next week, she shared more and more - the broad strokes of her training and previous missions, the torture she endured, the things she did right and the people she helped, the ones she couldn't save and the memories that still haunted her. She answered his questions as best she could, and he considered it a privilege that she let him hold her when she cried.

The following Sunday morning, they were cuddling on the couch after brunch when she sat up with a note of alarm. "Wait, you're not supposed to be here this week. Don't you go to the cottage after finals end?"

"I had more important things to take care of." Remus traced her mouth with his thumb, pressing a finger to her lips as she started to protest. "I told them to expect me closer to Christmas. I want you to come up with me on Tuesday."

She tensed in his arms. "I don't think that's the best idea."

"You were fine with me telling them you're back. What changed?" he asked, studying her with concern.

"Hearing it and seeing it are two different things." She sighed, tucking her head against his shoulder. "I would like to see them, but they won't take it well, especially without much explanation. I can't bear to lie to them, and I don't want to put you in the middle. They're your family, Remus."

"They're your family, too, Min." He tipped her head up and brushed his lips against hers. "And you're mine. Let me worry about that."

* * *

Wednesday's dinner at the Weasley-Tonks household went well - Ginny and Hermione reconnected as if no time had passed, and though Remus knew she'd been nervous for Dora to learn of their relationship, the two of them hit it off quite well, too. Teddy was thrilled to have a new adult around to be spoiled by. But tension filled the air at the Burrow on Christmas Eve.

Arthur and most of the boys had taken things in stride and heeded Remus's ask not to bother her about it, but he could tell Molly's distance got to her, and Ron was unusually cold. After Charlie, Bill, and Fleur Flooed back to Shell Cottage with Victoire and Dominique, Dora took Teddy upstairs and Arthur headed out to the garage.

Everyone else piled into the living room while George regaled them with tales of his latest ideas for merchandise for the joke shop. At his mention of a complicated board game concept he wasn't sure how to execute, Hermione spoke up in a hesitant voice. "I have a potion idea that might help, if you're open to it."

"That'd be great. Let's talk later, yeah? I've been so stuck with this, but if I can get it right, I know it'd fly off the shelves." He shot her a grin. "Thanks, Min."

He had been the one to coin the nickname so many years ago. She'd hated it at first. Remus suspected being called 'Mione reminded her too much of Harry back then, though, and it grew on her eventually. As she nodded at George, her face lifted in one of the few genuine smiles she'd offered all evening.

"What do you intend to do now that you're back?" Molly asked.

Hermione tugged Remus's gray cardigan tighter around her, as if she wished she could drown in it. "I did some Healing and Potions work while I was - away - and I like the research, so maybe that. But I'm glad I don't have to make a decision right now. I haven't thought much about it yet, really."

"Planning to live off Harry's money, then?" Ron piped up.

He bit back a sharp retort. She'd never touched her half of the Potter/Black fortune or the funds from her Order of Merlin, and ten years of her considerable Bureau salary with no expenses left her quite well off besides. Not to mention, his own income could easily cover both their needs. But it was just an excuse to lash out.

Ignoring his tone entirely, Hermione said, "Actually - it was meant to be a surprise, sorry." She favored Remus with a tentative glance. "But I plan to talk to the Ministry about setting up a Wolfsbane fund with it, and a few other funds, too. It's ridiculous that they require compliance to stay registered but don't cover the expense. The formula I refined cuts down the ingredient cost, but manufacture will be more difficult, so it'll still be steep."

She hadn't mentioned a word to him, but his heart lifted at the idea. He gave her hand a grateful squeeze.

"Anyway, it's good it came up, I wanted to run it by you first, Ron. It feels weird to make decisions about his stuff by myself."

"So, what?" he continued, still bitter. "You've just been hanging out at the beach doing research?"

She stiffened, balling her hands in her lap. "It was a little more complicated than that."

"Min, make a pot of tea for us, would you?" Remus asked, tucking a curl behind her ear. She gave him a tight smile and unfurled her legs to head for the kitchen. When she left the room, he turned to Ron. "What part of 'don't pressure her to talk about it' was difficult for you to comprehend?"

"All of it. We deserve some explanation, Remus."

"Let it go already, man," George cut in. "I'm just glad she's home safe."

"Ron has a point," Molly said, her usually warm face shuttered. "She can't show up out of the blue and expect things to go back how they were. She hurt a lot of people."

"She doesn't expect that, Molly." He frowned, leaning forward and planting his elbows on his knees. "She wants the chance to get to know you again, and for you to get to know who she is now, but there are things she can't talk about. And she cares too much about you - about all of you - to lie to you."

"You know what it was like when she disappeared, how awful it was searching for her." Ron crossed his arms, pissed and harsh. "You forget that all of a sudden because you're fucking her?"

"Honestly, Ronald!" Ginny glared at her brother.

Hermione's sharp hiss from the doorway alerted him to her presence as her hands shook, sending the tea pot splashing over her arm. When the tray slipped, she cushioned the fall with a reflexive spell. The cups didn't break, but everything rolled onto the carpet. "Dammit. Sorry, Molly."

As she knelt to cleanse the carpet and gather things, Remus was at her side in three strides. "Leave it, I've got it," he murmured, helping her up from the floor. "Let me see your arm." She had a habit of boiling the water with magic - it brewed more quickly and tasted better, but it would be dangerously hot.

"I'm fine, it's nothing, really."

He took her hand in his and rolled up the sleeve of his cardigan. She'd scalded a wide patch above her wrist. He wasn't certain whether it was her ridiculous pain tolerance or some kind of shock that kept her from feeling it, but when she did it wouldn't be good.

"Go upstairs, run it under cool water, salve it. Take a pain potion, one of your strong ones."

"Remus, I'm - "

"Hush, sweet girl." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his palm resting against her cheek. If the rest of that sentence ended up being an apology for Ron's behavior, he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions. "Don't be stubborn. I'll come up in a bit."

She gave a quick nod and headed for the stairs. He crouched to finish cleaning the rug and gathering the cups.

"Here, let me help." Ginny smacked Ron upside the head on her way over from the couch.

"Thanks, Gin," Remus said, more for that than for her help in taking the tray back to the kitchen. He sat back down, clenching his jaw.

"You fighting her battles for her now, too?"

"She's fought enough of them by herself," he snapped. "She's gone through a hell you can't even imagine for years, and she's earned her silence. If you can't muster any empathy, then at least have the decency to keep your mouth shut." That quieted the room for a moment.

"The sad part is she predicted this, and I thought she was just being pessimistic. I'm grateful not everyone sees it the way you two do." Remus sighed as he stood again. "I hope we can have a peaceful day tomorrow, for the kids' sake."

"Night, Remus. Give her a hug for me, would you?" Ginny asked, and he nodded before disappearing up the stairs.

They had borrowed the guest room that used to be one of the boys', rather than returning to the cottage, because Hermione wanted to be there early when the kids opened gifts. The room was small, mostly taken up by the bed, and she sat on the edge of it, capping the jar of salve.

"Gin sends hugs." Remus tugged his turtleneck off and traded his khakis for pajama trousers.

"She's sweet. Tonks, too. They're adorable together.”

He sat next to her and took her arm into his lap, wrapping it carefully with the bandage she'd left nearby. The salve did a decent job of repairing her skin, but it was still fragile and inflamed. He noticed the half-empty vial on the nightstand.

"I specifically said not to be stubborn, little one." He gave her wrist a tender stroke of his thumb. She'd told him how much she hated the disorientation of pain and sleep potions, because it put her at a risk of being attacked. "I know how you feel about them, but I'll be here."

"I know, sir. I'm sorry." She took the vial from him and downed the rest.

He slipped between the sheets and pulled her to lay against his chest. "No apologies this week, unless it's me apologizing to you for putting you through that. You did nothing wrong."

"It's hard for them. It was hard for you, too, remember? Ron'll come around once he's vented enough." She traced little patterns with her fingertips along his side as he gave her a tender squeeze. "He's right, though. You shouldn't have to fight my battles for me."

Remus frowned, realizing how much she'd heard. "Hey. Look at me." When she met his eyes, he continued, "I love you. Taking care of you makes me happy. I'll fight your battles for as long as you let me and count it a gift. If there's a side, I'm on yours, Hermione. Always."

"You're so good to me. I love you, too." She smiled at him. With a quiet yawn, she snuggled close and let her head drop back onto his chest, the potion turning her voice to a drowsy murmur. "Night."

* * *

When Remus woke, he was hard as marble, and it took him a second to register why. He could barely make out Hermione's wicked smile in the pre-dawn light where she'd settled between his legs, but he felt her warm breath through the thin cotton of his sleeping trousers as she nuzzled him.

"Greedy little kitten," he murmured with fondness, brushing her hair back from her face and checking to make sure the silencing ward he'd put up in case of her nightmares still held. "Is there something you need?"

"Please, I want to taste you," she begged. "Will you let me take your come in my mouth, sir?"

"Since you asked so sweetly." He gave her hair a gentle tug, rewarded with a shiver. He was usually too preoccupied with having her in other ways to let her finish him with her mouth, but he couldn't deny her needy whimpers.

He freed himself, groaning when she dipped her head to suckle his balls. Her moans hummed against his skin as he allowed her to direct the movements with only the gentle pressure of his grip. When she slid the flat of her tongue up the underside of his cock and took him into her mouth, it took all of his focus not to buck his hips, seeking more. She loved this, he knew, the languid pleasure of taking it slowly, but sometimes it was a fucking trial.

"You're so beautiful like this, with your sweet mouth wrapped around me and that blissful look on your face. Sometimes it's all I can do to stop myself from fucking your pretty little throat."

If she was set on dismantling his self-control, he'd enjoy screwing with hers. Of course, she liked that just as much.

She met his gaze, shuddering as she sucked him deeper, the pull of her an ecstatic ache that made him throb against her tongue. She must have taken it as encouragement, because she tongued him fiercely until he growled and dragged her off of him, holding her a couple of inches from where his cock gave a traitorous twitch.

"Are you wet, kitten?" he said, watching her try to keep herself from fighting his hold.

"You know I am." She exhaled a quiet whimper, clutching at his thighs.

He chuckled, letting her move close enough to nuzzle his shaft. "That's right, you always are. I know you can't help yourself, though. And you smell intoxicating." At her blush, he released her a little more, until she could taste the head of his cock again. "Be a good girl and stroke your clit for me. I want you to soak those panties while you swallow my come."

When he loosened his grip, she took him deep, almost choking herself on him, her pleading moans threatening to be his undoing. He was supposed to be the one in control, but somehow it always felt like she was sucking his goddamn soul out. Or maybe just pouring hers straight in, the way she poured herself into everything she did with him. He overflowed with it and loved every moment.

The sound of her muffled cries as she trembled with the force of her orgasm sent him over the edge only seconds after her. Her tongue caressed him through the waves of pleasure, and she licked him clean, pressing a kiss to his thigh.

As he tugged her up to curl against him, she whispered, "Happy Christmas, sir. Thank you."

"Happy Christmas, little one," he said with a soft laugh, holding her close. "You're something else, did you know that?" He didn't have to look to know she'd be blushing again.

He cuddled her in silence for awhile. The cadence of her breathing told him she was still awake when he gathered the courage to speak once more. "Min?"

"Mm?"

"Have you thought about what kind of dynamic you'd like to have, with me?" Remus traced the curve of the flowers along her collarbone. "You've got so much to think about, I know - "

"24/7," Hermione interrupted him with complete certainty. "I don't care what label you'd like to put on it, but I belong to you. I want to spend my life serving you, and I want you to have the final say in everything."

He was trying to swallow past the lump in his throat when she lifted her head from his shoulder, looking a little alarmed. "Oh no, that was too much, wasn't it? I knew I should have - "

He sat up and silenced her with a fierce kiss, savoring her mewls and exploring the depths of her mouth. "No take backs," he teased, resting his forehead against hers as she gave a breathless giggle. "Kneel for me, precious girl."

As she dropped to the floor next to the bed, he summoned the jewelry box he'd stashed in his overnight bag.

"You make me so happy," he whispered, cupping her cheek. "You do have a lot to think about, and there's no rush. This is for consideration, and of course it's okay if you change your mind. But it would please me for you to wear it, and one day soon, if you still feel the same, I intend to make it permanent."

"Thank you, master." Tears fell down her cheeks now, but she nuzzled his palm with a radiant smile. He clasped the slender ivy gold chain around her neck so the small O-ring in the center nestled at her throat. "It's lovely."

"You're lovely. Do you remember what I said last night about taking care of you and fighting your battles?"

She nodded as she rested her head on his thigh, and he ran his fingers through her hair. Wearing his collar in the past always seemed to center her, and he hoped it would now, too.

"I meant it, little one. You focus on pleasing me and let me take care of everything else. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." She started as someone banged on the door. "The hell - "

"Remus! You lovebirds better drag your asses out of bed and come rescue your child, or my wife's liable to strangle him for trying to open presents before she's had her coffee."

Remus shook his head in amusement, dropping the silencing ward so he could call back, "He's your son, too, Dora!"

"Not this early in the morning." Dora's voice faded as she descended the stairs. "He gets that from you!"

"She has a point." Hermione's lips quirked and she stood to change, dropping a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Hey, I was sleeping soundly until someone decided they wanted to get frisky," he retorted, smacking her ass. "I have enough gray hair already without you ganging up on me with those two."

"Don't worry, sir." She laughed when he pulled her back into his arms, her amber eyes meeting his green ones, full of adoration and promise. "I'm on your side, too."


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics in the chapter are from For Island Fires and Family by Dermot Kennedy. Thanks for going on this angsty, smutty, romantic journey with me! This is the first long piece I've ever finished, and the first fic I've posted in years. I'm glad to get the chance to share it with y'all.

_We were swimming out so far this time_   
_The sun and your eyes were the only fire_   
_Pretty intimate so far, so I lit a holy fire_

Dermot Kennedy, “Boston”

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Remus told her to wear something pretty. Hermione reminded him that he thought everything she wore was pretty and that she was prettiest in nothing, just to hear him laugh when he dropped a kiss in her hair and clarified, "Something appropriate for public consumption, please, kitten."

It wasn't that unusual for him to whisk her away on a Saturday evening, but he was being sudden and close-lipped about it. He'd been acting oddly all week, really, and he refused her attempts to plan anything big for his 50th birthday on Wednesday, only letting her cook for him. She couldn't help the sinking suspicion that he might be upset with her, even though he hadn't said so much as a word in anger in the three months since she'd left the Bureau.

 _Stop it. You're being ridiculous. Everything’s fine_.

She gave her reflection a critical glance. The long-sleeved sage gown she'd chosen covered most of her imperfections, but the wrapped bodice dipped low enough to display her crocuses and a few too many scars.

She ran her fingers along the right side of her chest. With the use of her salves over the last few months, the scar of her brand faded so that she'd been able to get the area tattooed the week before, and now the flowers faded into a moonlit sky overlooking the storm-gray wolf that adorned her ribs. Ink couldn't take away the scars, but it gave her a more positive association with them, and the memory of Remus's awed expression when she asked his permission and showed him the design still warmed her.

The copper torc she wore below the slender chain of her collar would hopefully draw attention away from her skin, with its spray of etched leaves that fell across her collarbones, and she'd left her hair down, falling over her shoulders in rich, dark waves.

Though she'd had enough of glamors for several lifetimes, sometimes she wished he would allow her small ones. At least in public.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Remus appeared behind her in the master bath and encircled her in his arms, dragging her back against his chest.

"Perfect," he breathed, dipping his head to brush his lips against the shell of her ear.

When his teeth grazed it, she exhaled a soft whimper. "Tease," she murmured with adoration, earning a swat on her ass.

"Yes." He drew himself up to his full height. "Sadly, unwrapping you from this delectable ensemble will have to wait. At least for a little while."

In the mirror, she took in the sight of him in his crisp white button-down and navy trousers. Her favorite vest covered it, the blue-green of the ocean, and her heart stuttered. She played it off with an impish grin. "I suppose we ought to get going so we can get to that part faster."

"I like the way you think," he agreed, taking her hand. In his bedroom - theirs, now - she stepped into her heeled brown boots and grabbed his leather jacket from the end of the small couch, laying it over her arm.

When they reached the porch, though, she hesitated. "Remus, is everything alright? With us?"

His enigmatic gaze frustrated her. _You used to read people for a bloody living, you ought to be able to read him better by now._ He just touched her cheek and said, "I love you, little one."

"I love you, too, sir." _Ridiculous man._

She waited for the pop of side-along Apparition, but instead felt a much stronger tug that left her dizzy on the other side. It took her a few seconds to gather herself and register the sensation as an international Portkey, and Remus stayed her wand arm with a reassuring hand as a loud chorus of "Surprise!" rang out.

They stood in the garden of his ancestral cottage. Though still barren in the spring chill, someone had set warming charms, and lanterns hovered above, functional and beautiful in the twilight. _Everyone_ was there.

Hermione exhaled a shaky, nervous laugh as she glanced at the man on her arm. She realized with a flicker of anxiety that everyone would now know they were dating - they'd kept it quiet, outside of Tonks, Teddy, and the Weasleys - but judging by the broad smile on Remus's face, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's a surprise party," he explained when she didn't move or say anything.

"I gathered that much, I'm just not sure I understand why." Then, lest he interpret her discomfort as ingratitude or petulance, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his jaw, not caring who saw. "Thank you."

"Oh, please, Min, we both know you hate attention. But in the last few months, you published the biggest development in lycanthropy treatment in decades, started a charity, and saved the world - again. They can't know all of it, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be celebrated." He squeezed her hand, mischief in his gaze. "Now, I pondered holding individual parties for each accomplishment, but I value my life, and my lovely slave happens to be an expert on untraceable poisons. I'm compromising with the one because I want to show you off."

"Well, when you put it like that, I guess we're both lucky you're the only person I don't mind being surprised by," she said, shaking her head in amusement.

"I am very lucky, yes." Remus pulled her close and slid his hand into her hair, holding her against his chest. She closed her eyes, taking comfort in his warmth. After several minutes, he dipped his head and murmured, "Better, kitten?"

She nodded, her eyes still closed, her voice a faint whisper. "Yes, sir."

His lips brushed her temple. "Good. Go enjoy your party, I won't be far."

Hermione made the rounds, happy to reconnect with her old Head of House and some of her friends from the Order and Hogwarts. After a conversation with Neville on the innovation of new plant breeds for potion-making, she gravitated to Cesare's corner of the garden.

"I don't think I've socialized this much in - actually, I never socialized this much, even before. I lived in the library." She flopped down on the chair next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "I love them, but it's exhausting. I'm glad you're here."

"Don't worry, cara. I'll shield you from your adoring masses." He ruffled her hair as Remus wandered over. "Jacob sends his love to both of you, he had a work thing."

"Give him a hug for me. And thanks for sending me the name of that Mind Healer."

"Is it helping?" he asked, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

She nodded. She couldn't share many specifics with the woman, but between regular therapy sessions and the safety and stability of being with Remus, her nightmares and her hypervigilance were improving. She'd stopped carrying her knives and extra wand with her, and she hoped to eventually talk him into letting her back in the gym.

She lifted her head as Remus kissed her cheek and sat down, handing her a cup of tea. "Mm. Thank you, beloved. I need the fortification."

Cesare leaned over with his flask and she pushed his hand away, laughing. "You're the only one who thinks ruining a perfect Earl Grey with Rémy Martin is a good idea, Ces."

"Nonsense, a hot toddy is good for the soul, Min," he teased. He'd adjusted to her new face and name with ease, and Min fell from his lips with the same fondness he'd once called her Katie. "By the way, Ryan said he expects a finder's fee for hooking you two up."

Hermione snorted. "Tell that meddling prick - " She cut off with a sinking feeling when she sensed the air move, dropping her head in her hands as Cesare and Remus bit back laughter. "Goddammit. He's behind me, isn't he?"

"If I'd known Remus would spoil your manners so, I'd have recommended someone with a sterner hand, princess."

"Sir Ryan!" She stood and turned to tackle the willowy older man in a hug. "I'm sorry. It's good to see you, it's been too long."

"It has." He gave her a quick squeeze, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at her. "You look lovely. Brown hair suits you better, I think. And you never really seemed like a Kate to me."

"Thank you." She pecked his cheek, standing behind Remus as he took her chair. "So, about that finder's fee - "

"I'll take it off you in trade, if your master doesn't mind," Ryan said with a roguish grin, producing a box. "I still haven't found myself a girl who can serve a cigar as well as you do. And I'm given to understand we have things to celebrate."

At Remus's nod, Hermione headed inside. When she descended the stairs several minutes later with her kit, he took her hand and pulled her into the kitchen, taking the small box from her and lifting her onto the counter. He silenced her noise of surprise, standing between her legs, claiming her mouth and grazing her bottom lip with his teeth as she clutched at his back.

He broke the kiss, leaving her breathless and whimpering, his hand slipping beneath her dress and traveling up the inside of her thigh.

"Wh - what happened to waiting?"

He stroked her through the silk of her panties and she gasped, spreading her legs wider and pressing to him, seeking more contact.

"I know how hot cigar service gets you, little kitten, and I can't take advantage of that with an audience." She moaned as he wrapped his other hand around her throat. "And watching you light mine always makes me think about other things I'd like to put in your pretty mouth. If I have to spend the rest of the evening frustrated, I don't intend to suffer alone."

He gave her throat a gentle squeeze and teased her clit through the wet silk, and she brought her hand down hard against the counter, her hips jerking away as she tried to drag herself back from the precipice of an orgasm.

"Holy fuck," she breathed when he let her go.

His answering chuckle reverberated through her as he held her close, helping her down. "Give them to me," he instructed, eliciting a light shudder with his nip at her ear.

She leaned against him, stepping out of her boots long enough to slip her panties off. She blushed when he tucked them in his pocket, nuzzling her nose to his as he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. Grabbing her kit, she ducked under his arm while he held the door open.

"No blowing the sticks in front of the 'nillas, you little tease," Cesare said with a pointed grin when he noticed her flushed features.

Hermione's lips quirked as she cut her eyes at him, and she took the chair Remus offered. Wetting the whole cigar wasn't to everyone's liking, but it made for some fun scenes.

She enjoyed all of this, though, the ritual of it - there weren't many things her master cared about when it came to protocol, but offering him a cigar on her knees made her happy. Though he stayed away from ash play because of her history with burns, he liked how quick she could come while taking smoke in her mouth with his hand around her neck.

But although everyone else seemed content to mingle amongst themselves for the moment, they did still have an audience, so she settled for holding his gaze as she cut it and dampened both ends with her tongue. Toasting the length for a couple of minutes, she took care not to singe the wrapper, then she lit it, taking a draw to ensure it burned evenly. She offered it to him, laid across her upturned palms.

"Thank you, precious girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She smiled softly. At his nod, she prepared them for Ryan and Cesare as well, leaving the box on the table at Ryan's suggestion in case anyone else wanted to share.

"May I go see what Gin and Tonks are up to? I'm afraid I'll get myself into trouble if I spend anymore time around you three."

Remus brushed his knuckles across her cheek in a tender caress. "Have fun."

Ginny was nowhere to be found, but Tonks's spiky pink hair was easy to pick out - she stood a little ways away, sipping a champagne flute, and embraced Hermione with a smile as she came over.

"I spotted Bill and Fleur, and caught up with George a bit. Where are the kids?"

"Oh, Molly offered to sit, so Dom and Victoire are probably driving her mad running around the garden. With Teddy at school now, they don't have him to pounce on."

"That was sweet of her. It's a shame she didn't come."

"I think she still feels guilty about Christmas, but she's too stubborn to admit when she's wrong. She'll come around eventually."

"I knew it'd be awkward, and I understand why. I don't blame her." Hermione leaned in against Tonks and gave her a gentle squeeze. "I'm just grateful you guys were so welcoming."

"Of course we bloody were, Min, you're family," the Auror said, squeezing back. "Besides, you two are good for each other. I don't think I've seen him this happy in…well, ever."

"I'm lucky. It was an accident, us meeting again, but it felt like fate."

"He's the lucky one," Tonks laughed. "He needs someone he can take care of, someone who's just as devoted to him, and I'm glad you're that person. I chafed under it. I like to give as good as I get, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do," Hermione grinned. Though she'd topped a bit to learn some kinds of play from both sides, she felt most at home on her knees. Knowing Ginny and Tonks, though, it didn't surprise her at all.

"Oh, hell." Tonks set her glass down on the little table nearby and touched Hermione's elbow. "If you need a quick escape or, you know, someone to help you hide a body - "

"What - "

"Hi, Hermione."

She turned to see Ron, standing next to a stern-looking Ginny and a pretty blonde she assumed to be his girlfriend. "Hi."

"So, uh, I still don't get it, but I'm sorry for pushing you." Ron gave her a sheepish smile, reminding her for a moment of the boy who'd once been her best friend, the one she'd fought with and made up with a thousand times. "I shouldn't have lashed out. It'd mean a lot to me if you'd give me another chance."

"Did Gin put you up to this?" She almost felt bad asking, but he was just as stubborn as Molly with admitting his mistakes.

"Oh, no, I'm here on ass-kicking duty in case he puts his foot in his mouth again," Ginny said with a wry grin.

"And I'm certain I will, because that's sort of my thing, as you know," he continued, running a nervous hand through his messy red hair. "But I don't want to spend the next ten years missing you, too, 'Mione."

Hermione pulled him into a hug, closing her eyes tight against the wave of emotion. "I could never stay mad at you for long."

Ron introduced her to his girlfriend and somehow she ended up in the midst of a lively Quidditch debate between the four of them, surviving with a lot of smiling and nodding, and refusing to take anyone's side except Ginny's. When Remus stole her away, though, she was relieved; the party had begun to wind down, with mostly just close friends left.

The set of his shoulders told her he was apprehensive about something, and she frowned as he led her over to the bench between the cherry trees. He settled her there and she waited for him to sit with her, but he ordered her to stay. When he came back, he was holding her guitar.

"Remus, I can't sing in front of all these people - " she hissed in controlled panic as he lifted the strap over her and the familiar curve of the body fit her thigh. He slid a finger under her chin and tipped her head up until she met his eyes. It was a testament to her trust and her desire to obey him that she wasn't more vocal in her freaking out.

"Hush, sweet girl," he murmured in a low, soothing voice. "Do you remember the piece I asked you to learn?"

She nodded. That was one of the oddest instructions he'd ever given her - about a minute of brilliant composition followed by simple but beautiful repeating chords. She'd practiced it quite a bit in the last couple of months, even though he never asked to hear it.

"Will you play for me?"

Hermione caught her lower lip between her teeth. She had no idea what she was supposed to accompany, and she would have preferred not to have an audience, but she gave another nod.

His thumb brushed her lip until she released it. "There's my good girl."

The praise provoked a familiar flutter behind her ribs that felt like safety, like joy, like home. She tried to relax as he sat next to her, just far enough to leave space for her to play. Without the shield of his body, she felt very exposed when everyone turned to look at them, so she watched the path of her hand along the frets instead.

She was partway through the soulful beginning chords when he sang a few lines. She barely caught the words - something about a bird. It almost sounded like a poem. Her gaze snapped to his and her fingers faltered for a fraction of a second.

He meant her to accompany _him_.

He didn't start singing again until she completed the first part. It was a good thing that the rest of the song was simple - her bit, at least - because the intensity of his voice captivated her.

_Now, wasn't it love soon as we knew each other properly?_   
_Living 'bout half right 'til a certain person got to me_   
_Nothing is secret, everything's sacred, how it ought to be_   
_Under the moonlight on a clear night on rooftops is where I want to be_   
_Sometimes I'm like a child, that's something I can't release_   
_Dreams of her coming home, sweet home, and I'm telling you, home's so sweet_   
_Said you reminded me of the summertime and I still mean that_   
_In a full room, I'm the only one she's smiling at_   
_So wouldn't you let me know if you were thinking less of me?_   
_That's what she asked me, what was promised, what we both agreed_   
_But truthfully, if you ever go, you'd drop me straight to hell, the seventh circle_   
_And I was talking with you earlier, we were open and vulnerable, it was wonderful_   
_And I, I used to dream that you would talk to me_   
_I used to dream that you would talk to me_

As she took a breath, she realized she was crying. He knew the lyrics were her favorite part of a piece of music. These were incredible - he must have written them himself - but it was the tenderness with which he sang them and the clarion beauty of his voice that made her ache with emotion.

_And I couldn't tell you enough that I'm sorry_   
_And no, you couldn't tell me enough that you love me_   
_But she's bringing the moon and stars to me, damn permanent reverie_   
_And even though this life, this love is brief, I've got some people who carry me_

The sound of the guitar dissipated seconds after his voice, to scattered clapping. Hermione was afraid to move or look away, as if she might break the sacred spell that held them. Remus reached up to brush her tears from her cheeks and she nuzzled his palm. They were still falling, but the gesture was sweet.

He took the instrument from her and set it carefully against the bench, then got down on one knee.

"Remus - " She curled a hand around his bicep, so thoroughly startled that she struggled to catch up with what was happening.

"Shh, my precious girl." He took her hand from his arm and settled it in her lap, clasped with his own. The nervousness she'd noticed in him earlier was gone, but he swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. "I remember the moment I fell in love with you, that first Saturday on the beach, under the stars. And that morning you were brave enough to tell me how you felt about me, it was one of the happiest moments of my life, followed by the longest and most terrifying six weeks I can imagine."

She laughed, sniffling and brushing at her cheeks.

"Hermione, I regret not being able to be there for you for so many years, but it's my joy to do so now. You make me want to be the person you see when you look at me." His smile was radiant, his eyes nearly as wet as hers. "Once, I promised you I'd give you everything you wanted, in time. It would honor me if you wanted to be my wife."

She might have been trembling, and she was definitely still crying, and her face was about to split apart with how wide she was smiling. It took her a moment to find her voice, long enough for him to disentangle his hand and retrieve the ring stashed in his pocket. When she could finally speak, she whispered, "Yes." More raucous applause resounded from their friends, but she only saw him.

He grazed her knuckles with his lips before sliding the ring on. A rose gold band shaped like a stem with diamond leaves curved around her finger, cradling an amber teardrop surrounded on either side by tiny emeralds, the color of his eyes. 

He stood and pulled her up and into a tight embrace, shielding her from attention as he stroked her cheek and her hair, his chin resting on the top of her head. Grateful she'd chosen to forego the makeup, she accepted the handkerchief he offered and wiped away the remnants of her tears.

"I'm probably all splotchy."

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. "You're beautiful."

"I'm so happy, sir. I don't - I don't even know what to say."

Remus tipped her chin up and leaned down to kiss her sweetly, resting his forehead against hers. "You don't need to say anything. Let's make our rounds so we can kick everyone out, and then I'll hold you for as long as you want."

She breathed a soft laugh. "Deal."

* * *

Remus was still a bit in shock at the miracle in his arms. Hermione lay curled up next to him on the couch in the master bedroom of the cottage. She'd slipped out of her boots and removed her copper necklace, and her green dress spilled over his lap. Her hair tickled his chest where the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, his vest long since discarded. He ran his fingertips up and down her arm, holding her close against his side.

She was still a bit in shock, too, he could tell. He had been nervous - not about everyone else's reaction, but about hers. Though he knew she disliked attention and being in the midst of so many people, she'd taken it all quite in stride, and she was slowly becoming pliant under his touch.

"How are you feeling, little one?" he whispered into her hair.

"There aren't words." She lifted her head to meet his gaze, seeming to turn the question over in her mind. "Like I'm home. You always make me feel that way - my home is wherever you are."

He brushed his lips against hers. "I can relate to that." He'd worried at first when she simply let him absorb her into his life and his home over the last few months, but she'd been rootless so long that she said it didn't matter to her where they lived and, anyway, she had no intention of leaving his side unless he ordered her to. He'd slowly coaxed her to begin adding her own touch to the spaces they now shared.

"You never told me you could sing.” Her tone was only a smidge accusatory. "Or write music."

A laugh bubbled up from inside of him. "I'm not sure that I knew I could, either. But you gave me the idea, that night you sang so beautifully for me. I knew you'd written it, Min. For a spy, you're a terrible liar, you know that?”

"I'm an excellent liar with everyone but you, I'm just glad I don't have to anymore." She blushed, hiding her face in his neck. "I wrote it after the first time I visited you. I hadn't picked up a pen in…God, probably twelve years."

"I'm glad you don't have to, too." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I decided to try my hand at it in November, while you were gone, but I had to enlist Bill's help with the chords. He listened to me sing it to get an idea of what I wanted and said it'd sound better a capella, but I told him the guitar was the most important part. Didn't tell him why, though."

"It was breathtaking. You're just full of surprises." She shook her head and kissed him with gentleness, nipping softly at his bottom lip.

He tightened his hand in her hair as he explored her mouth with his tongue. She surrendered to the kiss with the same devotion she did everything else, pouring her emotions and desire out freely. It was intoxicating, the way she gave herself to him, the scent of citrus and the sound of her quiet moans surrounding him.

Remus had debated with himself about whether to spring yet another surprise on her, but he wanted to, and he knew if he brought the idea up in advance she would manage to overthink it somehow. He much preferred dragging her out of her head and into the moment. They'd talked at length about what they wanted in a relationship, so this was more of a formality, but one that held a great deal of significance for both of them.

She stirred against him as he stroked her side and curled his fingers around her hip. When he broke the kiss, she murmured soft pleas. "Sweet kitten, will you indulge me once more tonight?"

She was puzzled and a little foggy with want from the way those mewls still rose from her throat, but she nodded. "Anything."

"Undress and come kneel for me."

She unfolded herself from the couch and Remus walked over to the bed, retrieving the hidden item from the nightstand he'd stashed it in and setting it down behind him as he drank in the sight of her. She wore an emerald bra and garters with lace stockings - sans the panties he'd nicked earlier - and though he wasn't much for lingerie, she was so sinfully gorgeous the outfit deserved to be outlawed. Any other time he would have left it on while he tormented her, but tonight he wanted her bare.

When her clothes were neatly folded, she shot him a hesitant glance. He cast a warming charm on her from across the room and she smiled softly as she knelt, crawling to him, though he hadn't asked her to. As the firelight turned her creamy skin gold, the sight sent a rush of blood to his cock and made his breath catch. He loved how much she loved showing him that she was his.

She stopped when she reached him, staying up on her knees to press her body flush against his leg, and she shuddered as he fisted his hand in her hair. This was where she felt happiest, he knew, and as for him, he never wanted to be anywhere else. After a few moments, he withdrew his hand and she sat back on her heels, thighs parted, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

Now that she'd made it there, he was the nervous one. Other than the music, he hadn't prepared anything he said that evening, and he'd never offered anyone a permanent collar. His head knew it was a foregone conclusion, but his heart still worried, still needed everything to be perfect for her.

"Hermione - " His voice broke with emotion and he cleared his throat. "You amaze me every day. Not just your brilliance and your strength, but your devotion, your surrender, your drive to please me, the way you give everything you can and hold nothing back. Tonight, claiming you as mine in front of the people who care about us, showing them what you mean to me, it brought me such joy, little one."

She blushed, and he smiled softly as his fingertips ghosted along her cheek. She tilted her head, seeking his touch. "I want you as mine, for always. I want to love you, to care for you, for the rest of our lives. Will you wear my collar?"

Tears threatened at the corner of her eyes again and she kissed Remus's palm when he cupped her cheek. "Yes," she whispered softly. "Since the first time I knelt at your feet, I've wanted nothing more than to belong to you, to serve you. I'm yours already, in every way that matters. You honor me."

She lifted up on her knees again, nuzzling his hip as he unhooked the ivy chain she hadn't taken off since Christmas and set it aside. When he took the eternity collar from the bed, she studied it while he brushed her hair over her shoulder. He slipped it in place, a murmured spell melding the metal and locking it there, and she traced the shape with her fingertips.

Cesare had helped him locate a good metalsmith and he and Dora offered feedback on the design - several strands of rose gold resembling ivy and rope intertwined with a matching chain, winding around her neck in a slender band and coruscating in the firelight. Tasteful enough for public wear, and in line with her fondness for warm tones, but it still contained a great deal of meaning.

"Thank you, sir. It's lovely." She met his gaze with adoration, and he tangled his hand in her loose dark curls as he perched on the edge of the bed.

"It's nothing next to the priceless treasure who wears it. But it pleases me - more than I can say - to see it on you."

She rubbed her cheek affectionately against his inner thigh as he petted her. He loved how responsive she was, how he could calm her or set her aflame with the smallest touch. She shivered when he gave her hair a gentle tug, nuzzling his lap.

"I know what you want, but I have other plans for you tonight," he said, brushing her lower lip with his thumb and sliding it into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed as she lapped at his skin, the desire on her face leaving his trousers uncomfortably tight. "You’ll be a good girl for me, won't you?"

She nodded, giving him a curious glance. When he said, "You're not to come unless my mouth is on your pussy or my cock is inside of you," he saw a flicker of fear, the look she always wore when she was afraid of disobeying him.

She was the most obedient woman he'd ever met - in general, but especially when it came to this. No matter how much he tormented her or how long he made her wait, she was as likely to struggle against the instinctual pull of her arousal as to lean into it, if not more. When she got close, she'd beg him to stop or try to escape his hands; if she came without permission, it was only because he enjoyed setting her up to fail almost as much.

"Sir, I don't know - "

"Shh. I just want you to try your best." At her nod, he stroked her cheek and said, "On your back, then, arms above your head."

She stretched out on the bed and he cuffed her wrists, anchoring them to one of the bars at the headboard. As he knelt between her thighs, he captured her in a tender kiss, his palms drifting over her torso. The soft brush of his thumb against her nipple elicited whimpers, which only got more insistent as he trailed his hand up the inside of her thigh. When he pulled back from the kiss, she was flushed and panting, and as he drew his fingertip along her slit, she squirmed away, trying to close her legs.

"Stop." His gentle slap against her wet pussy was met with a moan as he forced her thighs apart. "I don't want to tie your legs tonight, but I will if I have to."

She shook her head. "No, sir, I'm sorry, I'll try harder to be good. I'm just - "

"I know how much you need it, little one," he said, stroking her hip. "You were like fire in my hands earlier, and I teased you this morning, too. Do you want some pain, to give you something else to focus on?"

He leaned over to withdraw a set of clover clamps from the nightstand at her whispered plea. She trembled, closing her eyes as he put them on with a soft whimper at the pinch.

"Better?" he asked, and she sucked in a shuddering breath. Clamps were a love/hate thing, but he hoped the sensation would distract her from the ache. She gave a slight nod as she opened her eyes again, meeting his. "Good. As long as you behave, they'll stay just like that."

The threat made her shiver and bite her lip, but she released it with a gasp as he nipped at her neck and slid a finger inside of her, stroking her while her inner walls shuddered around him in erratic bursts. When she'd adjusted to the slow, gentle movement of one without clenching, he gave her a second.

"There you go, my sweet girl," he murmured. As he stroked a little faster, she gasped. He felt her tighten, and he took them away, pressing soft kisses to her mouth and caressing her cheek until she calmed a bit. "You're always so good for me, so obedient, aren't you?" He ran his thumb down her throat, enjoying the way her breath hitched. "Who do you belong to?"

"You, master," she whispered, nuzzling her nose to his.

He smiled and skimmed his lips along her neck, running his hands over her hips before he ghosted his fingertips against her slit again. She jerked at the slightest touch of her clit, but kept her legs open to him, doing her best to breathe evenly as he fucked her with his fingers.

He went on like that for a while, pulling back each time she got close. The fourth time, he managed to work a third finger in, and she gave a little sob as he pulled back, pressing her thighs together again.

"Please, I can't bear anymore - "

The gentle tug on the chain between her nipples that tightened the clamps stole the rest of her words as she whimpered softly from frustration and pain, spreading herself for him.

"I'm s - sorry, sir - "

"Shh," he whispered, kissing her cheeks where a few tears had fallen. "I know, sweet girl. I know you're trying. You're so lovely like this, flushed and tearful and needy for me. Just a little longer."

She made it twice more before she pulled away the next time, crying as he tugged the clamps tighter again - more, he suspected, from the fact that he wouldn't give her relief from his touch than from the pain itself. He murmured reassurance to her until she spread her legs, still sobbing wordlessly.

She was so wet, she'd long since leaked onto the sheets beneath her, and he worked his fingers into her with quiet patience, as slow as he needed to to keep her on the edge for as long as she could bear. When she tightened again, she cried out as he took his hand away, but stayed open to him.

"That's my good girl.” He kissed her tenderly and brushed the tears from her cheeks as he met her gaze, reveling in the complete surrender and devotion he saw there. "I won't make you do that again tonight, I promise. You've done so well. Do you want to come for me, little one?"

At her slight nod, he moved further down between her legs, brushing his lips over her abdomen and pressing kisses along the new tattoo she'd gotten for him. He continued his path downward, his warm breath grazing her heated flesh and his tongue flicking against her clit, and she cried out again, her whole body shaking as she came.

He held her to his mouth as her juices flooded him, suckling her clit to drag out the orgasm until the waves subsided and she pleaded with him to let her go. She was still gasping, little shudders rippling through her, as he acquiesced with a soft chuckle, nuzzling her thigh.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome." She gave a breathy moan as he slid two fingers inside of her again, spreading wider and rocking her hips against his hand freely now that she'd had some relief. "There's a good little slut, get my fingers nice and wet."

Her protest as he withdrew turned into another moan when he gently probed her ass with one of those fingers, and she relaxed to allow him entrance, mewls of pleasure escaping her throat as he stroked her there.

"Is this what you needed? Tell me, sweet girl, do you want more?"

Too far gone for shame, she exhaled pleading whimpers that went straight to his cock. "Please, I need more, sir. I want you to fuck my ass."

He gave her the second finger, thrusting her more quickly as he pressed a kiss to her thigh. "Oh, God," she gasped, grinding herself on his hand.

He covered her with his mouth again, and as his tongue curled around her clit, she shuddered with another sharp cry, the pleasure overwhelming her. He lapped up her nectar, the taste of her drawing a moan from his throat, and when she recovered he reclaimed his fingers and cleansed her and himself.

Stepping out of his trousers and boxers, Remus knelt between her legs again and rested his forehead against hers. "I love you so much. Did you know that?"

He could have drowned in Hermione's amber eyes as she nuzzled him and brushed her lips tenderly to his. "I love you, too, master."

Smoothing her hair back from her face, he held her gaze as he entered her, savoring the little noises of pleasure that escaped her throat and the way her slick walls felt around him. He gave her firm, slow strokes that quickened as he struggled to maintain his own self-control. When she started to clench on his cock, he removed the clamps from her nipples, burying himself in her as she tightened like a vice, until his growls mixed with her scream.

When they both recovered, he uncuffed her hands, rubbing her wrists and gathering her to him. "How do you feel, my love?"

"Mm," she murmured, still trembling from the endorphin rush, curling up close and tucking her head against his shoulder. "Floaty. Safe. Can we stay like this?"

"I did promise to hold you as long as you want," he said with a soft smile, resting his cheek against her hair as he surrounded her in the strong circle of his arms. "And I always will."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] "That's my good girl."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953944) by [Ada_Lovelaced](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ada_Lovelaced/pseuds/Ada_Lovelaced)




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